


Antivenom

by Sadbabey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Angst, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Government Corruption, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Panic Attacks, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Trauma, Wizard Racism, will get dark but tags will be added accordingly, wizard ableism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26694916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbabey/pseuds/Sadbabey
Summary: In the wake of the Battle of Hogwarts the school is done picking up its pieces, now searching for a new Muggle studies teacher they turn to Harry for a suggestion. He knows just the person.Hermione has been couch hopping, toeing the fine line between homelessness and just poor enough, since that last fated year Harry left. It is the fresh year of 2000 and her housemates are just about to kick her out when she's given a job opportunity as the first Muggle teacher in wizard history. Now living in an incredibly foreign and dangerous world, Hermione is put under the protection of a ministry appointed bodyguard from the criminal reform program, and that person just happens to be Lucius Malfoy, the disgraced death eater.The AU no one asked for where Hermione is a muggle, Harry was adopted into her family, and Lucius has a lot to come to terms with.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy, background Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley - Relationship
Comments: 26
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> Please know I binge watched all the harry potter movies for the first time in my life after playing the Lego videogame so forgive me if i get information wrong or dont know some deep lore. Im trying.
> 
> Anyway welcome on board the feels train things are only gonna go down hill from here.

Sometimes it's the little things that have the biggest impact on a story. A change of mind on a forked path, deciding on the train rather than a haphazard car flight to your appointment, or perhaps, meeting the right person at the right time.

Wise musings that frequent the mind of Albus Dumbledore skitter in place as the cool silence of night is broken by the slow creak of an aged wooden door. A skittish muggle man peeks his head beyond the darkness of his home, it was an odd hour past midnight in Hampstead, and his attention is drawn to the swathed creature cradled in a basket on his doorstep.

The Dursleys were deemed unfit, hearts too cruel and selfish to raise a potential prophet child, and it is but the will of lady luck herself that young Harry Potter is adopted into the Granger household with loving, open arms.

\+ + + + +

“You want me to teach what?”

Hermione Granger has never felt so many eyes on her all at once. She sits with her feet tucked beneath her on the couch her roommates found on craigslist, the old velvet floral design feeling more like sandpaper from its age, but it was one of few comfortable seats in the house. Around her gathered the proud and battleworn remnants of Harry’s friends and mentors from hogwarts.

Most notably, the elegantly aged Minerva McGonagall, who had happily settled into a second hand armchair, the leather well worn to the point of being plush to the touch, and on her lap curled crookshanks receiving the most thorough scratch of her life. 

“Muggle studies, Miss Granger. Our unfortunate loss of Mrs Burbage had opened a position that none have yet applied for, but as we are about to start a new year Harry suggested you for the position instead”

Every word is punctuated by a strange aura of confident power that Hermione feels drawn to concede, It would be nice to have a consistent job. But there was one great daunting fear already crawling its way through her thoughts. 

“But i'm not a witch, I have no magic, how would that even work?” McGonagall nods with a knowing smile, sure she's nibbling the bait, but she still needs convincing. 

Yes, among all the people in the room, she was the only one, save for crookshanks, to have no magical ability. Harry was lucky, or perhaps unlucky enough, to have been not only a wizard, but a prophet wizard with a seemingly immortal enemy that was defeated two years ago.    
Hermione had been caught in the fray, spending what should have been her last year of highschool running from sent tracking werewolves across england, living practically homeless till the fateful day a giddy brown owl sought her out with a scroll. She’d never felt relief quite like that, to hear her brother is alive, that a great evil had been defeated, that she can finally stop running and rest. 

A big part of her wants to say no, that the wizarding world has caused her enough trouble in what could have been a blissfully unaware muggle life. But behind the backrest of the fair Headmistress of Hogwarts stood her best friends, both avoiding eye contact with themselves and her at the risk of a giddy contagious round of laughter. 

Now that, those boys right there, are her reason to consider it. She missed her brother deerly, and their childhood friend Ron just as much, especially now with these lingering glances and the kiss they shared before He departed for Hogwarts for the last time those years ago. All the time she’d been denied, kept away from them, she's being given a free ride into the wizarding world to be around them. To actually be part of their story.

She worries at her lip with her teeth.

“We have been discussing that in the interim” McGonagall begins “we will be hiring a bodyguard of sorts through the ministry, one that can help you around the grounds and prevent any… unfortunate magical accidents”

That's a very real threat. Though yes, Voldemort is dead for good this time, that doesn't change the risk being a muggle in a magical world can bring. What if her bed tries to eat her? Perhaps a random unpredictable centaur attack, or being the unfortunate guinea pig for a badly brewed potion. Even a young wizard knows their way out of most trouble at Hogwarts, but a magicless grown woman? Hermione has little hope she’ll last a year without hospitalisation.

And that staff turnover, oof.

“So it won't be Ron or Harry?” Hermione asks almost sadly.

“Sorry ‘Mione, we're already apprentice Aurors and there's plenty of Voldemort's stragglers out there” Ron begins, a pout already on his lips and that damn frustratingly cute tilt of his head that he regards as an ‘apology kinda’. Harry quickly follows up saying “we will obviously come visit between captures though, you don't  _ have _ to take the job but.. If you want to it would be nice b’cus we can see you more” 

Damn him and his earnestness. 

Despite trying to hide a smile beneath a little pout, she accepts.

Ginny gives harry a hard nudge with her hip, her baby bump is slowly growing more prominent and she's been happy to throw her new weight around, Hermione can't hear amongst the short choir of excited shouts but she sees them share a moment, Harry's wide hand spanning the small round of her belly as she gives a generous kiss to his lips. 

There's so much she's been missing. It feels like just yesterday she found out Ginny was even pregnant, and now it's been five months, She's going to be an auntie, and a Hogwarts teacher it seems. There's a feeling of not quite belonging that settles in her stomach as everyone's excitement settles again.

“Were preparing a new room for you, It was once used for propagating ingredients for alchemy and potions but with the expansion of the greenhouse we no longer need it” a man speaks from the back. “Thanks Neville” harry speaks for her before this ‘Neville’ chimes up again. “It's only a little down the hall from the Muggle Studies classroom too, and you get your own owl! And the food is really goo-”

McGonagall raises her hand and an immediate hush falls over everyone.

“I'm sure she's had enough convincing, Mr Longbottom, I'm sure she will love the room tour once it's finished. Now! Miss Granger, we will give you some time here to wrap things up, and I will send Hagrid to collect you in a month, in that time perhaps you can go over these curriculum sheets and structure yourself a lesson plan, hm?” 

_ Yes, absolutely, I missed the structure of a learning environment.  _

McGonagall sends away the others, most apparating away with a swift flick of their wands. Harry leaves her with a tight hug and brotherly peck on the cheek. McGonagall leaves three leather bound books on the coffee table, with a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder she bids her goodbye before turning to the last remaining visitor.

Ronald.

McGonagall stares him down with a particular affixed look till Ron ducks his head, some unspoken exchange of “dont do anything stupid” followed by an intimidated “yes ma’am” till the Headmistress leaves with just as much fluid grace as she’d arrived with.

The silence hung between them for a few beats too many.

“So…” Ron starts “ you gonna like, be one of them sexy teachers? Or more like umbridge?” 

She bites back her snappy retort, instead standing, and striding across the room to him. But as she closes in on him she realises he's still a growing man somehow, larger in places he wasn't before, stronger, and the hands that grab her waist are just that touch more rough. He turns them, shoving her back into the wall and hiking one of her knees up over his hip with a rough roll of his hips. 

_ It's been a while _ , she thinks pleasantly, and lets Ron close his lips over hers.

* * *

  
  


Hermione gathered her few possessions, cat, and ended her rent and job with ease. Her housemates were hardly friends and were blunt in their expectations of her date of vacating, No more of this, She's moving to a damn castle, no more questionably thrifted furniture and poorly maintained rentals.

The half-giant Hagrid stows her two suitcases into the seemingly endless trunk of his new personal flying motorcycle, Crookshanks yowling from a mounted wire cage. This one built perfectly for his stature and weight, and a raised pillion seat at the back, She's not a whiz with motorcycles, but the design is reminiscent of the classic harleys her father used to excitedly guffaw at when they passed on the road.

Hagrids gentle giant hand helps her up into the pillion seat, dropping a helmet onto her head a size too big, she quickly fastens the strap under her chin as the big man settles into his seat and just like that Hermione is whisked away from the streets of london, she wants this to be a better life.

\+ + + + +

Hermione had never actually  _ seen _ Hogwarts castle. 

Sure, she’d heard the fantastical stories from her brother, or those told in tandem with Ron, but nothing really prepared her for the real deal. Disney castle was a far stretch, but this was its own unique style of late 10th century stonework with high turrets, whimsical billowing flags in the windless night sky, a giant deep lake to one side and a sprawling dense pine forest to the other. It stood intimidatingly in the rising moonlight.

It would be a home to her now. The world she could only just skim the surface of while Harry dove deep.

“Hold on, lass!” Hagrid shouts behind him. Some turbulence in the air, her arms fly for his waist and manage to catch hold of the thick belt around his waist. It jars her bones and Hermione is sure there's a blooming bruise on her tailbone, but their landing is… less rough than she was anticipating.

On the cobblestone stairs waiting their arrival stood Ron and Harry themselves, Ginny under the laters arm, close behind them McGonagall, an angry man with a cat, and a very very short man with a bowl cut who scurried behind the legs of the others.

An odd welcoming party indeed. 

Ron excitedly dashes forward, and as soon as Hagrid has dismounted his motorcycle Ron lifts her off into his arms. Hermione feels the memory of childish love, the bubbling joy of something new with something familiar, the smell of him and the odd tingle of incense and magic in the air. She lets out a light bark of laughter as she nestles her face into the crook of her  _ almost _ boyfriend's neck and returns his hug just as tight.

“Welcome to Hogwarts ‘Mione” He murmurs as he releases her, following close behind him Ginny throws herself in for the next hug, then Harry. It felt nice for others to be so excited to have her.

“Good to see you safe back on the ground Miss Granger, I'm sure your flight was fine?”

The gracious form of McGonagall approaches, tired but wise eyes glimmer with motherly joy as she looks over her old students. Hermione confirms it, sure, it wasn't her first time travelling by absurd magical ways, but a flying motorcycle surely beats the nauseous agony that Portkey's gave her. 

“Come then, it's chilly out, We’ll show you to your new quarters”.

The Headmistress led the small group through the massive archway and double doors into Hogwarts Castle, with the last term concluding late last month the halls were near silent, not a student in sight and simply the hollow echo of distant chatter and footsteps sound. 

It was everything and everything Hermione had imagined. Massive paintings hung on the walls of slowly moving murals, human bodies conversing amongst themselves and moving on the 2D frames, whole suits of armour poised with weapons at the ready like sentinels of the halls. In the main entrance hall four large banners spanned the walls, red, blue, green, and yellow, each their own unique tapestry woven by old hands.

“Bloody hell” was all Hermione could whisper as she took in her surroundings. 

They are led through the bending corridors and the burning curiosity inside her was becoming unbearable, it seemed at every turn there was something new and amazing to stare at, to figure out and understand. She makes a mental note to immediately begin research on the castle once she is settled, given Harry's description of the massive library this castle hosts she's unsure how she will ever have the time to  _ teach _ when such tempting knowledge was just a short walk away.

Up two flights of stairs to the third floor Hermione is unceremoniously grabbed by the arm and tugged ahead by a much too excited Ginny, prattling off about the work she and Neville had done to prepare it for her.

“The bed is gorgeous! It was actually part of the liquidation sale after Borgin and Burkes forcibly closed, checked it for curses and everything, it's only curse is being too soft” the redhead begins “and the cupboards! Hagrid found them for a steal and haggled them down to trade for ale! Can you believe it?”

I mean sure, she can, it wasn’t uncommon to exchange things for your addictions, she remembers short little deals she made for cigarettes in 1996, tit for tat. She just hopes the cupboards don't turn around one fateful day and gobble her up.

Pulling up to a wide door on the left wall, adjacent to a line of large glassless windows facing the moon outside, and flanked by two female portraits in elegant 18th century finery, One hushes the other as they approach and they both raise feathered fans to their lips. 

“Good evening ladies, how are we?” Ginny begins, the two giggle quietly to themselves, sharing little glances between them from opposite sides of the wall. “Don't mind them, they like to gossip. Hurry up you lot!” Ron and Harry quicken their strides to reach the doorway, the later sparing a backwards glance at the Headmistress, she nods to him, and then he to Hermione,  _ go on in.  _

This was it. A whole new home, it felt as if electricity tingled in Hermione's fingertips as she reached out, closed her hand around the large iron handle of the door and turned. 

  
It truly was a wonder.

Yellow stone brick illuminated by lit torches, a short hallway to a sort of living area, though sparsely decorated, was homely. It is clear this part of the castle was intended to be a lived in home but rather a storage or well… extra herbology classroom. Two large red upholstered couches faced each other, between them a dark wooden table with an inlaid chess board in the middle. 

The walls were not ‘decorated’ per se, but the stone had been deeply rooted by the plantlife cultivated here. Crawling vines with curled vibrant leaves slithered between every crack and crevice, in the corners were little sprouts of what could have been dandelions only the petals were a gorgeous sky blue shade. Outside the large glass windows a cobblestone planter box filled with many different things, the touch of color was welcome.

When Hermione hurried into the room she turned and found lines of tiered seats spanning from one side to the hallways entrance and mirrored on the other side, she definitely has enough space for visitors to sit.

“Do you like it?” Sheepishly ron pushes to the front and trails his hand down her arm, the affection warming her cheeks. “Yes” she confirms “it's very spacious, nowhere to sit though”. He snorts at her, the trailing hand gives her a firm pat this time.

He points to a door nestled beside the seats on the far right, “in there is your bedroom, not quite as big as this one but still good”, Hermione looks to it, and then to the far left where a twin door sits on the opposite end. “What about that one?”

“Don't worry about that for now, come look at all your stuff!”

\+ + + + +

The evening had been a busy one, after a gracious look at her new surroundings and Hagrid had dropped off her meager belongings, accompanied by McGonagall doing her best to rescue her MP3 player that seems to have gained a mind of its own along with her electric toothbrush. Alas, it was a failure, some things even a powerful witch has no control over, Hermione begrudgingly accepts the next year without the support of Britney Spears or the backstreet boys.

“It happens sometimes” she claimed “when exposed to so much magic some muggle wares can't seem to cope and become one with it instead” 

Afterward Hermione is introduced to those she will be working close with while crookshanks is left to wander his new home and acclimate, she is then introduced to the other staff, the groundskeeper and his cat, ghosts, paintings, and her first introduction to two ‘house elfs’ that help around the castle. Many names and faces she's going to have to work hard to remember.

Then, she was taken to the great hall. Long tables and chairs moved to the far sides of the room save for one in the middle where a small collection of students sat together to eat. The ones with nowhere to go home to now that the last term has finished. She ate with the others from a banquet she could have only imagined in ancient paintings of high royalty, only with floating candles.

But now, she can rest. Her bones feel just as heavy as her eyelids, and damn, this cursed old bed was a masterpiece. Four tall posts with gargoyles carved into their arms, each facing inward to the mattress like loyal guardians, their beady eyes scowling and mouths open in a snarl. Above their heads their clawed hands grasp at the remaining post as if it were holding it up, each tip ended in a conical spire and other fine details carved in the wood.

It sure looked cursed, but she's not complaining given her last bed was a fold out couch.

She sleeps deep into the morning and wakes feeling more rested than many of her years before, the slow clock ticking on the wall read 10:40am, much later than she should have awoken. She bolts upright and out of bed, digging in her trunk for a simple knitted sweater and long sleeve undershirt, paired with her jeans from yesterday. 

She trips out of her bedroom and into her living space where crookshanks hides beneath one of the couches, and perched delicately on the arm is a sleek grey tabby, its wide green eyes watching her keenly.

“Hello there kitty, now where did you come from?”

It blinked at her slowly, watchful, and Hermione raised a hesitant hand to pat it. The cat happily craned its head forward to press its cheek into the tips of her fingers, encouraging a hardy scratch beneath the chin. “Well aren’t you charming, I see you scared away crooks”. Hermione kneels down to check beneath the couch to see crookshanks glaring eyes stare back, his fur thoroughly fluffed and tail twitching, he was  _ quite _ irritated.

“He was quite unimpressed to have a visitor, but he will learn” came a familiar voice.

She sat up quickly, and now sitting comfortably upon the chair arm was none other than McGonagall herself, the tabby now nowhere to be seen.

“Did you?-”

“Yes, it was I, I do appreciate your scratch dear, it's been too long since ive had a good petting” There's a shine of mischief in her eyes “now come, sit, there are some things we need to discuss before your day starts”

_ Okay then.  _ It's not every day you’re thanked for scratching an old woman under the chin, but whatever. Hermione takes a seat opposite the Headmistress and looks at her expectantly, The door down the hall opens and the slightly awkward form of a house elf ambles into the room pushing a cart topped with a tray and tea set. 

“Just in time, thank you Finnie” McGonagall praises as the elf unloads the tray, placing and filling two teacups with hot rich golden liquid. The elfs large eyes turn to her “wanting any sugars miss?” to which hermione nods, the creature placing a fine cube of white sugar into her cup and stirring for her, such gentle movements she hardly tapped the ceramic. Then just like that the elf was gone, they were incredibly effective servants.

From her very first sip of tea Hermione felt like her body rejuvenated, the tired not yet awoken brain snaps to full attention, her weary muscles relaxing and then tensing, even the blocked nose she didn't notice till now cleared right up. Damn good tea.

“So.. what is it we have to talk about?” Hermione presses.

McGonagall placed a manilla folder on the coffee table, on the front was a large stamp, Ministry of Magic in big red lettering, beneath a fine print that was ineligible from an overuse of ink. “What is this?”

“A month ago im sure you remember the mention of a bodyguard”

“Are you really sure I need one?”

McGonagall chuckles at this “of course you do, we went through five defence against the dark arts teachers in five years, many accidents and incidents of varied severity but you are a muggle, miss Granger, your body cant handle magical trauma like we can.”

She's right, but it still feels like a bit of an exaggeration. She remembers briefly back to her childhood, the eventful and, granted, traumatising day Harry saved them from a dementor attack.

“Is this them?” she asks, pointing to the folder.

“Yes, we have been discussing with the ministry the best course of action to protect you, given our very limited resources now that the war is over we have had to… make some concessions”

_ What on earth could that mean? _

As soon as she opens the folder she is greeted by a mugshot of all things. A tired man stares beyond the frame, platinum blonde hair and sharp features with a smattering of off colors across his face as if taken mere moments after an accident, blood, bruises and dirt. Printed on the top left corner of the paper was a registration number and the name MALFOY, Lucius, followed by listed identification details and scrawled details of his person.

“Who…”   
  
Before Hermione could ask McGonagall interrupts, already knowing what she's about to ask.

“He was a Death Eater, Defected at the very last minute but has been dismissed by the ministry for his affiliation, He has been stripped of his statuses, wand, and is being rehabilitated, so he was offered for this position as part of his rehabilitation. While we begged for someone else there were no other options outside of recruiting on our own which could take months”

It took a moment to process this. There was something vaguely familiar about the face, about the name, some of the stories Harry told her when they were young. He is a bad man, or at least  _ was _ a bad man. And doesn't everyone get a second chance?

“I guess… it wouldn't hurt to give it a try?” Hermione says with a shrug. “And if he tries to hurt me I can push him out a window”

There's a knowing glow to McGonagall's smile as she nods. 

“I assure you, he won’t be much trouble, He is sufficiently more tame than the others in rehabilitation currently and the least likely to harm you”

“And when will he be here?” 

“He is being transported here from the reform prison in three days. Plenty of time to tell the boys and let them have their huffs and hahs about it, now, lets discuss your very first curriculum plan”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quite a bit happens here! to summarise!  
> Hermione figures out her gameplan at hogwarts. Revisits a fond childhood memory.  
> Gets snappy with her boyfriend, and meets the husk of a man that is Lucius while  
> being badgered by wizard paparazzi. 
> 
> can I get a yeeyee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I got such a good first response for this I decided to release this chapter early~  
> for once I'm like...a few chapters ahead so I can be consistent in posting. expect a probably once every 5 days schedule??
> 
> ANYWAY. Subtle ron bashing, sorry, don't know how to write emotional young adult men any other way.

Hermione was lucky Ron and Harry stayed around on the second day, Auror work was beginning to tie off as the last vestige of Death Eaters were incarcerated, sent away to a new prison now that the fabled Azkaban was deemed ‘inhumane’ and in the process of being evacuated and permanently shut. So she has friends, family, and people to help her navigate these confusing halls.

“They kinda just know where you have to go, but sometimes you have to wait for the stairs to realize you're there” Harry noted as they stepped into the room of the grand staircase. From floor to ceiling large marble staircases moved of their own accord connecting doorway to doorway, all the while the high walls plastered with paintings communed amongst themselves.

“Will it work for me if I'm alone? With no magic?” Hermione asks.

“Of course, Filch uses ‘em all the time, I'm sure if a squib can you can as well”

They make their way to the grand hall where a lunch was being served, goblets of foamy cider and platters of meat, fruits, fresh baked bread, and roasted vegetables, part of Hermione worries for a potential gain in weight during her live-in here but the call of a good full meal is too much to refuse. Gone are the days of ramen 3 times a day and snacking on packets of crisps. 

“Where does all this food even come from, you don't just magic this all here do you?”

Ron shakes his head, mouth stuffed with a warm bread roll as he tries to speak to her, only coming out embarrassingly muffled. He's promptly swatted in the back of the head by a floating newspaper that finds its way back in the hands of Harry who hardly fights his smile.

“What he means to say is no, we can't make food out of thin air, the house elves cook in the kitchens and they then apparate it here for us”

“What do they pay the elves anyway?”

“They don't really get paid. They live to serve and are bound by generations of devotion to Hogwarts, they are happy to help, I think they even like it here” 

As if on queue an unfamiliar house elf approaches with a pitcher, offering more cider for their empty cups. His face was more round than the others she had met, full cheeks and ears that seem to have been cropped half way down ending in a hard straight line. He wore the same tunic as the others, a light grey with the emblem of Hogwarts embroidered on the breast and simple little leather shoes.

“Is we enjoying lunch?” he asks, sheepish almost, and Hermione smiles at him. They are earnest little things, clearly sentient as many things in the castle seem to be, and she thanks him as he refills her goblet before doing so for the boys and happily skipping off till he blinked away in a fine mist.

Hermione finds she likes the house elves.

\+ + + + +

“Bloody hell ‘Mione, you got work cut out for ya”

“Tell me about it” 

The boys sat opposite to Hermione on her living room couches, between them were a stack of books and parchment, old texts from past muggle studies teachers and essays deemed Outstanding by N.E.W.T and O.W.L standards leading up to 1996 when classes became somewhat less popular, lest students incur the wrath of the remaining  _ racists _ that plagued them.

She had managed to separate her classes into five main focuses that change every two months. Muggle history, followed by technology, medicine, modern culture, and her very risky and yet to be named “lies you've been fed about muggles throughout history”. When reading through her notes she noticed the pained expressions Ron and Harry share.

“What?” she snips at them.

“I-its nothing, You're going to have to show these to Headmistress McGonagall before anything is confirmed anyway” Harry speaks first followed closely by Ron “McGonagall is muggleborn, I think she might like it actually”

“Given the wizarding history books you lent me when you were at Hogwarts I think there's a lot that needs to be cleared up before your next generation of racists are educated”

“We ain't racists, muggles just did a lot of bad things way back when” Ron quipped back.

“The witch trials are centuries old now, the bad blood can only fester for so long”

Ron was reluctant to agree, and Harry, always the supportive brother, has her back. Muggles weren't all bad, they were just different, no more or less stupid than any magic users, they just happened to be missing the gift of magical convenience. She would be damned if her students came out of this with anything but an enthusiasm for working with muggles.

“Enough about that though, we gotta teach you how to write with a quill”

* * *

The next day came and went easily, more planning, more delicious meals, more comfortable deep slept nights, she's become familiar with the herbs growing in the planter box outside, matching their leaves and stems to a second year herbology book borrowed from the library. 

In fact, she's borrowed quite a bit, with the help of Finnie she tracked down many old tomes of history and wizard science, culinary arts and potions making, even one on how to create and capture a living painting.

There was so much to learn and so much time to do it, in a way she will be learning the wonders of the wizarding world alongside her own pupils. An old aching part of herself relishes in the missed life she longed to live in this fairy tale world alongside her brother. By the end of the week the boys are to head back to the ministry to continue their Auror work, and she will be here alone again. Always so many paces behind them.   
  
As she sat in the firelight flipping through a yearbook, one of Harry and Ron’s from 1994, she hones in on their boyish young faces. Though time has changed them there was still a lot of familiarity in them, the photos were taken at the beginning of the year, before things went south so drastically.

She remembers this year well, she had her first kiss from a boy in highschool she hardly remembers the name of, and her first bleed, closely followed by her first traumatizing experience in the wizarding world.

In August the Weasleys presented Hermione and Harry with tickets to the Quidditch world cup. It was exciting to think, watching her very first Quidditch match. She and Harry stayed up all night talking about it, she hung onto every word as he re-told his own stories playing the game, of his broken arm and loss of bones to nearly swallowing a snitch whole. And the  _ flying _ . At her age she had never seen anything but an airplane fly, the concept of children zooming around on broomsticks was insane and intriguing. 

But the real thing was unlike anything she’d ever seen. FIFA eat your heart out. There was not a single inch around the playing field that wasn't inhabited by animated spectators or decorative banners and lights save for the open air ceiling to give the players more room for movement.

The Weasleys happily shared their tent, an unfathomable construction larger on the inside than the outside, with the wild redheaded family boisterously celebrating inside after the match concluded with Ireland as the victor. George and Fred excitedly ran around the floor while Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat around the middle table nursing warm mugs of butterbeer. It was fun.  _ Was _ being the key word.

That night an attack took place. 

Death eaters, Her first introduction to them. They were malevolent and terrifying in their black hooded cloaks and obscured faces, casting bolts of fire across the campgrounds and burning down anything in their wake. Hermione remembers being separated from the Weasley family and Harry, running amongst the cinders and panicked wizards trying to find their friends and family they too had lost.

At some point in the panic she falls, tripping over debris and landing hard on the ground atop a pile of smouldering tent posts. Then things get vague, dizzying, and the next thing she knows she's lost wandering towards the woods with a deep long gash down her left forearm. Her sleeve torn and bloody with the crimson droplets staining her hoodie and pants. 

She finds the Weasleys and Harry eventually, they come rushing to her with open arms, worry on all their faces as they survey the damage. Arthur uses magic to heal her cut arm that responds… strangely. Muggle bodies did not respond to magic well, leaving her with a deep pink scar.

“We had worried they’d gotten you” Molly told her “they got the Roberts family, Death eaters hate muggles more than anything, we feared the worst”

It was harrowing, the reality of how dangerous things truly were in the wizarding world.

But now things were better, they were  _ okay _ . She was no longer homeless, the evil that is Voldemort was dead, and the Death eaters were either in prison (mostly) or apparently doing community service of some kind.

Speaking of which. She realises tomorrow is the day she will meet her bodyguard. Malfoy. She knows not a single thing about him, not his personality, not his life, nor his history as a death eater. Hermione hadn’t thought to ask, but McGonagall assured her he had defected from the Dark Lord's side at some point, so that means something, right?

With a sigh she traced the rounded cheek of Ron’s childhood photo, followed by a tap to the bespectacled nose of Harry. “Good night boys”. With one last skim of the photos she's caught by a peculiar name and face. Another Malfoy, Draco, she vaguely remembers the name from the boy's school stories, his smile seeming half hearted and never reaching his eyes.

She's curious, eyeing the short stack of other yearbooks, but that's a problem for the morning. The torches dim themselves as she shuffles herself into bed with the book closed on her nightstand.

* * *

Morning greets Hermione with the sound of scratching and tapping on her window, she rubs the sleep from her eyes as the sound persists but her movements are slow and sluggish, she's not a morning person, not anymore. Outside in the cold a deep brown owl pecks at the glass, around its chest is a leather harness containing a scroll of parchment, the magical avian mail system still brings a curio of wonder to her.

She slips out of bed in her size too big flannel pants and paces over, unlatching the old hinge and opening it with a loud metallic groan, it had been some time since the window had been opened. Instantly the owl makes its way inside followed by the chilly wind, shaking its body and puffing its feathers, flicking off droplets of frosty morning dew from its body. She closes the window hastily thereafter.

“Is this for me little fella?” Hermione asks, holding out a cautious hand. She's not sure of this bird's disposition, Harry's owl was friendly, but she's been fooled by pigeons before and doesn't want to be on the receiving end of this creature's curved sharp beak. Its wide eyes watch her as she slowly unfastens the small button that holds the scroll in place and thanks him for his service with a gentle pat to its head. The owl simply shakes her off and begins pruning its damp feathers. 

It's her first letter, well -  _ mail,  _ from someone that wasn't Ron or Harry. She turns it around in her hands briefly. It's tied closed with a strip of red ribbon, a subtle shimmer glittering between the threads, and a bright golden wax stamp to hold it all together emblazoned with a large M. An image both familiar and vague, the ministry, contacting her for whatever reason.

It could be anything, a welcome, a warning, a demand to step down, blackmail, she takes it rationally however, she has no ill blood with any wizard, so with curiosity she breaks the seal and unfurls the withered paper.

“ _ To the esteemed Hermione Jean Granger, _

_ The ministry is proud to welcome you to your position at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry as the first muggle teacher in the history of its creation. Your presence stands as testament to changing times in the wake of tragedy…”  _

Wow, they were really buttering her up, she skims over the niceties, nothing but compliments not for her own history and strength but just for her merely being here, and being the friend of  _ the boy who lived _ . Something she could do without. She begins in the next paragraph beyond the flattery.

“ _ Provided in this letter are documents pertaining to your future residence amongst the wizarding community as a muggle, and contractual obligations relating therein that require your absolute attention and signatures to be cited by a Ministry Official. Failure to submit the documents within a months time will result in termination of your position and obliviation of memories regarding wizard society. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Secondary documents provided are related to your cooperation with the Ministry of Magic in the Rehabilitation and Retribution Program for Wayward Wizards. You are required to read through these documents with your assigned participant to full understanding and provide both signatures within the allotted due date. Related items provided include _ _  
  
_

_ 1x request for termination papers _

_ 1x request for leave papers _

_ 1x request for transfer papers _

_ 1x wand use and misbehavior monitoring logbook _

_ 1x standard issue 10 inch pinewood wand, unicorn hair core, limitation charmed. _

_ We hope to hear from you as soon as possible. _

  * _Sincerely, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, M.O.M”_



Despite the small size of the scroll of paper as Hermione unfurled it, obviously the work of magic, it extended till out toppled said documents and extra bits. A pocket sized leather book with a tie closure, a wand, and a handful of papers fell to the floor at her feet while she mentally caught up with what she had read. 

Ok. just some legal stuff, nothing she's not unfamiliar with. What caught her was the details of this ‘Rehabilitation and Retribution of Wayward Wizards’.    
  
“Does everything need to be named so damned exuberantly here?” she mutters to herself as she reads over the lines again. It was obviously in relation to the schools use of their rehabilitated prisoner as a bodyguard, however it reminds her of a pet starter kit. She bends to pick up the extra pieces and yep, more long wordy papers with many clauses and marks for initialing and signatures. 

And the wand. It was surely not for her, no muggle can use these. Its body was a fine deep brown that grew somewhat lighter at the tip, its handle a simple smooth carved crevice with a slight dip for each individual finger for what she assumes is better grip, though she doesn't even know what a proper wand grip is anyway. It was in no way as fancy and beautiful as some of the wands she's seen thus far, very standard issue. 

She places them all on the foot of her bed and ponders as she dresses for the day under the rapt attention of the mail owl who's made itself at home on the backrest of an armchair in the corner of the room.

It was almost 9 in the morning and she really needed a good breakfast before she committed to another day of deep reading documents and what she can already tell will be a tense welcome to her ex-con bodyguard later today. Before she leaves she opens the window again, the owl not moving from its spot on her armchair but welcome to leave at its own pace. “Later little guy, wish me luck” she bids him farewell as she leaves into the living area, giving crookshanks a passing pat as he lazily hangs on the arm of the couch.

\+ + + + +

McGonagall joins Hermione and Ron for breakfast, Harry had apparently left in the morning to Diagon Alley for some business, but it opens the floor to get questions answered.

“I received a letter from the Ministry of Magic this morning” she begins as she stirs a generous spoon of sugar into a cup of tea while McGonagall spreads a strange fish type paste on a piece of dry toast. “Would you assist me in reviewing them? It all seems like a lot of legal work and i'm not well versed on wizard laws”

“Of course dear, did they include details for your arriving guard?”

“Yes actually! Quite a bit, even a wand” 

McGonagall nods and takes a surprisingly large bite, humming happily to herself as she dusts crumbs off her fingers and lips before washing down with her own tea, or now that she looks closely, it's a teacup full of milk.

Ron gives her a light nudge with his thigh and draws her full attention immediately. “When are we going to meet her? And what company did you even hire her from?” 

That's peculiar. Ron specifically used  _ her _ . Hermione felt herself pause in confusion, 

“He’s uh, coming on the train at noon?” she tries, hearing the clear of McGonagall's throat she turns to see a look of disappointed expectancy, Oh right, she was probably supposed to have mentioned at some point that her bodyguard was an ex death eater. Honestly she's been so busy getting used to the castle and planning that it has slipped her mind. 

“Scuse me?” There's an immediate confused, no, frustrated shift in Rons tone.

“Oh gosh, Ron, I’m sorry I forgot to mention who was going to be my guard”

He gives her an expectant look, a furrow already forming on his brow. Woop. here we go.

“His name is Malfoy, uh… what's his name, Lucius Malfoy? Its through the Ministry of Magics Rehab-”

“Lucius Bloody Malfoy?!”

Damn, the acoustics in the great hall were impressive. Rons shout bounced off the stone walls to high ceiling in a round of three that threatened to make her ears ring.  _ What is his problem? If it's good enough for his employer shouldn't it be fine? Good point hermione, thank you hermione. _

“Yes, he was fine by your employers standards, why what do  _ you  _ have against him?” Hermione snaps back at him. She doesn't even quite know why she bristles so quickly, something about the way he raises his voice so fast, quick to object, hot tempered despite her similar nature.

“D’you have any idea who that guy is? The things him and his family did? ‘Es a death eater!” 

“They're  _ Rehabilitating  _ him you Twit!”

“I Beg your Pardon, Mr Weasley! Miss Granger!” 

The authoritative voice of McGonagall carries somehow louder around the room and calls their attention away, already feeling the heat of shame the two lower their smoldering gazes away from each other.

“If you two could  _ please _ save this for later before you traumatize our second years”

“Yes ma’am” “Yes Headmistress” They say in tandem. 

As if on a perfect queue Harry comes wandering through the slightly ajar door of the Great Hall, dusting soot off his jacket shoulders. He calls for Hermione, something about “checking out some old furniture” a mirror? Whatever, this was an out to an awkward social recovery.

She excuses herself from the table with haste, essentially pushing Harry back through the doors as she hears McGonagall begin a light verbal thrashing over appropriate behavior. It was clear McGonagall has had more than enough experience putting the rowdy redhead in place when he arcs up too fiercely.

“What's that all about?” Harry asks, hardly hiding the mischief in his concern.

“Ugh ok so. Don't freak out…”

Harry leads her through the halls as she talks, and he listens, adding little notes of verbal confirmation that tells her he's listening, or at least somewhat present. He brings her to a large open doorway, what may have been hinges and a wooden door now long gone from a fire not long ago, the floor permanently stained black. 

“The thing with the Malfoys is… They're bad, but they're not evil?” Harry begins, they walk past piles of ashen remains, wooden frames of charred furniture, shattered glass of many colors littering the floor, some twisted chunks of metal and gears and a distant whispering of lost voices. This place was teeming with something unfathomable to her, but she could feel it like the slightest tingle in her fingertips.

“Dracos a right prick, but only cus his dad was, and I guess his dad was a prick because his own father was? Just a bloodline of racists really”

“Racists?” 

“Yeah that's probably why Rons worried, and I am too not going to lie. His whole thing is, well- was, hating muggles. Dunno if he's really changed or if this is just him trying to get this rehab thing out of the way”

At least Harry was a deeper thinker. Talked it out even when he got frustrated, no outbursts, It felt less tense. “I mean, McGonagall didn't seem too worried, and we have to write down every time he even uses magic. He might be a racist but he’ll be a racist on a tight leash who better do his job right”

They walk a little longer in silence till the ashen piles begin to show more shape and less burned remains were found, some things that somehow survived the fire, she thinks she can see an intact astrological globe, a picture frame missing its art, a small pile of varied wooden ladders. 

“What is this place?” Hermione asks, their last conversation happily laid to rest for now. 

“It  _ was _ the Room of Requirement, the Room of hidden things. During the battle the whole lot got burned but we’ve been hoping to find leftover rare magical artifacts and move em to a new secure location”

“How am I supposed to help?”

“Well” Harry leans against what looks to be a redwood writing desk and looks at her pointedly. “I didn't mean to bring you up here, just heard the yelling from the corridor and decided I’d step in”, at least he was honest, that little hero's heart never dies. 

“Thank you for that,” Hermione sighs.

“Any time, he's been tense since you got here cuz he's worried, that's all. At the very least there's some nice stuff you could decorate with here that survived, might be in need of a little clean though”

It was a fun distraction. She used to enjoy looking through antique furniture stores, there's just something so pretty about it all, and she gets the same feeling browsing between the random bits and bobs in the room of remnants. 

To her surprise there actually  _ were _ some things she wanted. A writing desk with a smooth elevation to its surface and many little nooks and crannies to store things, her internal squirrel was shaking, and with the desk she needed a chair, finding a smidge too high velvet topped bench stool, once partnered with a grand piano that had suffered the flames.

Harry gave it a hearty wack that shot up a plume of red-grey dust. That's gonna need a clean.

There is also a mirror, two large polished screens, one a crisp metallic silver and the other more yellowed, suffering staining and some areas of ware and a large splintering crack that splits the left side, both connected by a hinged wooden frame. Though she isn't a narcissist she knows a mirror of that size was worth an easy one hundred pounds and she's not about to say no to that. 

“Just don't be surprised if something comes crawling out of this” Harry quips as he looks over the two adjacent mirrors, smoothing his fingers over the surface “I’ll have it eat my big scary racist first and I'll run to McGonagall” Hermione jokes back “maybe it's just heat damaged on one side, I still think it would look cool in my room”

“Look, when you've been around as many cursed items as I have you kinda get a feel for them”

“Worst case scenario it steals my soul, best case scenario it what? Swears at me whenever I look at myself? Always looks like my shirt is stained? Something weird like that”

“Ok! If you're that sure you want it I won't stop you”

With a flick of his wand Harry transfigures each item into a marble that he hands to her, each a uniquely striped tiger's eye in bright red and yellow slashes. That solves the unasked question of ‘how the hell are we getting all this down to my room’. When they get back to her chambers she places each marble in a different spot for when the magic has worn out, they don't have time to properly rearrange. The Train was arriving in less than an hour. 

* * *

  
  


Hermione was not prepared for this. Absolutely not. 

Hermione and Harry take the short trek to Hogsmeade Station, walking with a light jog to make it in time. As they ascend the stairs together they find a small crowd has gathered on the platform. McGonagall stands patiently in maroon robes, different from breakfast this morning, beside her a rather round man in a suit smooth talks some members of the press who have flocked around the poor woman.

At the front, an audacious woman pesters with questions, a floating quill dotting parchment as she speaks recording every single bit. Her outfit was.. Loud. Eccentric even for a wizard in its bright colors, If the wizarding world had a prada, this woman is probably their greatest patron.

Beside her a man stands with an intricate flash camera, a somewhat dated model of the device reminiscent of a reise camera but more complex. They are flanked by some ordinary wizards who are taking their own notes. At least it's not London style news media, all the flashing and loud questions and devices would have terrified her.

As they approach the attention is immediately drawn to them. “Aaaah! There they are! Mister Harry Potter so good to see you again” the boisterous woman came tapping over on sharp heels, holding out her hand expecting for a shake that Harry reluctantly takes, her many bracelets clink together in an almost ominous chime. 

Her hawklike gaze is drawn to Hermione next, something in her smile felt ingenuine from the beginning. “This must be the Muggle we are dying to hear about. Hello, How are you. How do you like it here? Very different hm?” Oh wow.  _ Is she being condescending to me? _ To anyone watching she seemed kind but had a not too subtle tone as though she were speaking to a child. Before Hermione can interject the woman begins again. “My name is Rita Skeeter, I write for a very famous newspaper here, the Daily Prophet. You're making big news”

Harry excuses them from Rita's grasp, hooking his arm through Hermiones and dragging her the short distance to McGonagall on the platform where she waits and this man apparently acts as a journalistic barrier, blabbering on about some wizard gossip.

“What's going on?” Harry asks. 

The Headmistress sighs tiredly, more exasperated than anything. “There was already a bit of fuss about you being the first muggle to work within the magical world but it seems our friend the bodyguard is also the first death eater released for rehabilitation and you two coinciding is apparently worthy of talk” 

“What?” Hermione asks blearily. This is absolutely ridiculous. Do they think she's here to set a social example?

“Don't they have anything better to report on?” 

“Unfortunately not Mister Potter. Now be careful what you say, Skeeter has a way of twisting things” 

As if summoned by name Rita announces her presence once more, her blonde curls bouncing out as she looks up from her watch. “Ah we are due any minute now! get the film ready Bozo I want all of it”

In the distance the loud bellow of a horn sounds. 

So far away but very quickly approaching. For a moment she considers what a magical train might look like, is it just an enchanted train or a big fancy creation like some devices are around here. The Hogwarts express was an impressively kept steam engine from the 1930s, Its vibrant red and black paint shining in the midday sun, It was easy to spot coming over the horizon.

“Step back now, wouldn't want to fall in the way now would we” The way McGonagall speaks to the journalists was laced with its own condescending tone, and sarcasm, as if she’d want nothing more than to bat these mosquitos right into the locomotives destructive path.

The beast releases another loud honk, announcing its arrival just as it makes its way to the platform, slowing with the unavoidable ring of its metal breaks struggling under its own pressure. Rita is practically bouncing out of her skin in excitement and it becomes apparent to Hermione that they aren't here for her, they're here for Mr Malfoy. 

Two of the carriages pass by, the blinds drawn and lights out, but the third carriage pulls up with near perfect precision right in front of them all. Hermione releases a breath she’d been holding. The tense few moments were suffocating as the platform hands came out of the train to assist others disembarking to collect their things.

A meek man with a bow tie steps forward and places an average sized black trunk on the ground before them before ducking into a short bow and leaving. That was probably Malfoys, the leather material of the trunk embossed with the coiling bodies of serpents and each corner cap an intricately designed snake's head that bites at the edges. It looked like expensive wizard stuff.

Noone touches it, just waiting, till footsteps can be heard on the other side of the carriage door, There were two people it seemed from the shadows moving beyond the window. The door slides open and out steps a man dressed like your average wall street salaryman, save for a large brilliant teal feather pinned to the breast pocket and hangs over one shoulder. He seems almost chipper, and gives a nod and practiced smile to those who stand to greet him, then he steps aside.

Lucius Malfoy looks haggard. She can only wonder how old the photograph in his file is as he's definitely lost weight since then, His hair seeming limpid and haphazardly tied into a low braid tied off with black cord, a few strands loose but tucked away behind his ears. His fresh shaved face shows sharp lines, his proud cheekbones now over pronounced, skin deathly pale even for a Londoner. But his eyes appeared almost lifeless, hardly moving and glassy like that of a doll.

“LUCIUS!” crows Rita, an excitement that felt out of place bouncing off her in waves “How long has it been? And look at you! Things have been tough on you I hear?” She begins, hardly a trace of empathy in her being, he was her personal circus animal.

“Always a pleasure, Rita”

His voice sounds dry and gravelly, but a polite incline that hes perhaps rehearsed many times before. Hermione isn't sure if the others can quite see how sick this man looks. “Where have you been all this time?” Asks Rita “And where is your lovely wife?”. He deflects seamlessly, not a quirk or nudge in his expression, maintaining an air of nonchalance and forced pleasantries. It was obvious Rita was asking defense weakening questions, they were too precise but broad, too specific.

Hermione watches as he leans against a simple black cane. What he wears is just a touch away from your average wizards wardrobe. A solid black knit sweater over a coal dress shirt and black slacks. The shoulder had an embroidered patch on it, a bar of black with -  ᛦ ᛗ 0 4 2 \- In white thread. The wrists of the sweater tattered and threads peeling, hanging like small cobwebs around his large pale hands that grip his walking cane so tightly. Fingertips and knuckles rosy from the cold.

Does he not have a warm coat? Its late autumn for crying out loud.

“- Was simply dreadful! I'm sure your missus would find it hilarious” Hermione only picks up on the end of Ritas prattling. She seems to really want to press the issue of Malfoys apparent wife. The man in the suit steps forward and claps a hand none-too-gently on Lucius’ shoulder, “While we appreciate your interest Miss Skeeter there is a lot we need to have done for the Ministry before I head back so if you could please..” 

Rita snips at him, but reluctantly agrees to just one more question and a photograph.

“At least answer me this if you would- Come on scooch closer!” She takes advantage of the bustle of her wingmen forcing everyone into the frame of Bozo’s camera. “You haven't been seen for almost two years, Lucius, you cant blame your  _ concerned colleagues _ for asking questions after hearing about… well, everything”

She drags him front and center, his feet nearly stumbling and he hardly catches himself on his cane in the process, Rita ignores it however and pats imaginary dust off his shoulders.

“Now where's that Muggle girl? Get her in here too”

_ Oh boy here we go. _ A hand grabs Hermione by the arm and hauls her to the front as well, standing right beside this tired man. He spares her a glance, looking down at her, and she can see the twitch in his lip that dared pull into a sneer.  _ Probably still a racist. Great. _

“Please, Lucius. After all the chaos you've caused, does the Ministry really think forcing you to watch over a Muggle will make us forgive the Death Eaters?”

_ Wow what the fuck? _ . If that isn't antagonistic journalism Hermione doesn't know what is, didn't she call herself his friend?. Just as Hermione's brow drops in confused aggravation the flash of the camera goes off in a puff of white smoke that disoriented her for just a moment. 

“I hardly see how that's appropriate-” The fat man begins, trying to regain control of the situation before Skeeter interrupts him. “It's a simple question. Is this a ruse or not? Because it seems to me like the Ministry is trying  _ too hard _ to look good right now. And to use You, Lucius, of all people, forgive me for being skeptical”

“There's nothing going on here, I'm sure the Ministry has their reasons beyond this kind of gossip, Mrs Skeeter. You have your photograph, now leave” the happy man in the suit states. Waving them off, though Rita tries to antagonize a few more words from everyone to no avail.

Rita takes her camera man and apparatus away in a huff, not entirely satisfied with her limited information, but stating she will use what she's gotten and make just as good a story anyway. Hermione is going to have to remember to check the papers when she has time just in case it's a bad picture.

“I apologize for them, I’m not sure who told them when we were expecting him” McGonagall says to the man. He waved it off as nothing he hasn't already dealt with before. He takes this fine moment of silence to finally introduce himself.

“It is a pleasure to meet you all, I am Tristan Apath with the Ministry of Magics Criminal Investigations sector, I’ve been sent with Mr Malfoy here to ensure his cooperation when settling into his new role. Shall we be going?”

McGonagall couldn't be off the platform any faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how to post clickable links but i drew up a floorplan of Hermiones dwelling in the repurposed classroom.  
> especially since my descriptive abilities when it comes to architecture is S H I T.  
> Like previously! thank you all so much for enjoying this even on its first chapter! I am having a lot of fun <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some talk and interactions. just building,  
> next chapter will be Hermione's first day as a teacher! woot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its 3am in australia and im straight vibin.   
> also lucius is traumatised and i keep forgetting what words ive used for what things but thats just  
> what happens when i write fanfiction i guess. anYWAY.

Everyone made their way back to the castle with ease. Or at least, most of everyone. The bodyguard, Mr Malfoy, practically hissed when Harry offered to carry his luggage, claiming himself more than capable despite the tremble to his frame that she can clearly see, noone spoke of it. Noone wanted to. 

They decide the best place to gather and talk through the  _ terms of service _ would be Hermiones new living quarters. And honestly, she wants to suggest Lucius takes a damn nap given the dark circles under his eyes.

As the small pod of people approach the door the two paintings begin to giggle. One fluttering her fan in front of her mouth while the other one looks across the doorway to her twin with a mischievous smile. “What's up with you lot now?” Harry asks skeptically. 

One mumbles something from behind her fan while the other one begins to giggle in earnest. “Oh its nothing” they say in sing-song voices, “You just have a visitor”. Of course she does, shes got a lot of visitors. She ignores them and pushes the Heavy door open, holding it for the others to step inside.

“Uh..” harry begins before a loud voice calls over him

“That's where you’ve all gotten to. I came here to talk about something important and you're all gone to Merlin knows where!” 

That explains where Ron was this whole time, he sits on one of the couches with palms braced on his knees, hes been sitting there for who knows how long, simmering in whatever he’s been thinking about, probably what happened at breakfast. 

“We were picking up our visitor from-”

“Look while it is well and good your living environment is so.. Lively, we do need to finish this up post haste as I am a very busy man” Mr M.o.M Tristan is the next to speak up, _ Is it just a wizard thing to interrupt people? _ Hermione thinks. Harry, ever the wise one, takes the moment to drag Ron from the couch and out the door, the redhead already growing frustrated the less he can speak his mind.

She watches as Ron passes with the most obvious unbreaking glare towards Lucius. He didnt even blink, just Harry holding him firmly by the wrist and pulling him towards the door and out. Hes probably got more than a little vendetta.

“Typical overemotional weasley boys” Lucius mutters.

\+ + + + +

Despite this being the first time a Death Eater has been allowed into the rehabilitation program Tristan goes over the process with them, McGonagall, Hermione and Lucius all in their own spaces on the couch, Lucius practically shoving himself as far into the corner as possible while Minerva leans on one of the arms. Hermione just anxiously sits as close to the edge as she can with her fingers trapped beneath her thighs.

“- a wand incapable of curses, Restricted to light jinxes and charms, every trace of magic found from you must be recorded in the provided book with valid reasoning behind its use. Miss granger, the recording of details is your responsibility”

Hermione gives an affirming nod to the man, he paces as he reads through a clipboarded document of his own, Ticking off checkboxes as they agree to every small clause. “Accio wand” Tristan commanded, and from the place Hermione left it on her mattress it came flying at the door, hitting it from the other side and alerting them to the sound of it clattering to the floor. Hermione excuses herself to go open the door and collect the wand, book, and other documents she had.

“Oh, good girl” Again with the condescending tone “bring them over here”. Hermione scowls at him, carrying back her items despite the desire to dump it just to say ‘fuck you’. “Had I known you were coming I’d have prepared them better” she states her defence. Tristan just stares at her for a beat just long enough to feel uncomfortable before he begins again, motioning for her to hand the wand across the coffee table to Lucius. “In the case that a tragic accident were to happen and Miss Granger finds herself in peril you will do your utmost to protect her, and agree to endure consequences if you happen to fail”

“I do” 

“You agree that as per your contractual obligation you will put the life of Miss Granger above your own”

“I do”

“If your ward happens to become incapacitated-” More legal jargon, holding Lucius to agree before witnesses of his obligations as guard, of his limitations as a criminal, and the Ministrys expectations of his behavior. They seem to think the worst of him, which is why she can't help but to feel a prickle of worry. His passive grumpy expression does not change as he responds in a tired drawl, He's not here mentally, she can tell, eyes completely out of focus as his fingers slowly trace the body of his new wand.

She feels  _ worried _ . For herself and for him, whoever he is, he's not ok.

Somehow, time feels like it's moving so slowly. Tristan Apath doesn't falter a moment, doesn't even stop for a drink, and always smiles pleasantly in an unnerving manner. This man would Kill it in big business, or at least be everyone's favorite “talk guy”. He just keeps going. But they pull through. When the final boxes were checked and the two signatures of both Hermione and Lucius are printed to the bottom of their documents an air of relief washes over them all, it was finally done, Hermione just wants to sit in a quiet room for the week.

The documents are all combined on the clipboard and neatly transfigured down to a pocket size that Tristan pockets. “You should receive copies of these in 24 hours by owl for your reference, I'm sure we will be seeing eachother again in due time as check ups are required. Do take care Headmistress, Mrs Granger, and Lucius-” 

There's something in the way Tristan moves that's robotic, Hermione has already decided something about him is just too  _ wrong _ . His body stays stationary while his head pivots to face the man seated before them. “- Do not forget what we spoke about on the train. Forgiveness is a gift from the ministry”. He produces a wand from somewhere in his sleeve, a white wood with no details, so well sanded and smooth it looked almost like plastic, and with a quick snap of his wrist he twists and vanishes out of the room.

A terse silence hangs in the air now. The absence of the Ministry representative was welcome but now leaves the awkward transition of getting to know each other. Thank goodness for McGonagall's quick recovery.

“Merlin, I thought he’d never stop. Now Mister Malfoy, you seem exhausted, perhaps you would like some rest?”

Though she's not much older than he is, her maternal instinct has always been strong. Malfoy takes a moment of staring off into the void before he agrees. “Yes, you are right. Just show me to my chambers”. Now that she thinks about it, noones mentioned this part. Where is he going to live?, would his room be nearby so that she can quickly get help in the case of a late night vampire attack?

“Yes well” McGonagall stands and motions towards the door on the opposite end of the room, mirroring her own. Oh, so  _ that's _ what's in there, another bedroom. “Lucius we have prepared a dwelling for you during your stay here with us, I hope its satisfactory” 

He nods, stands from the couch, and hastily makes his way to the door before shutting himself away, leaving behind his trunk and wand on the couch. Something tells her not to pester him, he probably has a lot to adjust to, and dammit she needs to address how  _ wrong _ some of this feels.

McGonagall, probably sensing the tension vibrating off Hermione, walked them to the door where its less likely they will be heard. “Something is on your mind, dear?” 

  
  


“Did he look… sick to you?”

“Well yes, Its likely hes had it rough in the prison system till now, what with the other riff raff and stray dementors around, give him a few days and he will be back to full strength and can keep you protected properly” 

“But is he okay?” 

“I'm sure he’ll be fine-”

“He will NOT be fine when I'M through with him!” a muffled shout sounded from the other side of the large wooden door, of course Ron was still out there, still pitching a fit. Hermione swung open the door to find Ron kicking on the ground with Harry holding his torso in a leglock, the two boys fighting like well...boys. 

“Enough of this nonsense! Get up!” The headmistress commanded. They were up in a heartbeat, dusting dirt off their clothes and straightening themselves out as if they still feared her authority. “What has gotten you so worked up Weasley?, is it really worth the fuss?”

He feels self assured in his response. “Yes” he says, puffing his chest almost comically like a rooster “I won't have a Man, let alone a  _ death eater _ , sleep in a room right across from ‘Miones! You have any idea what he could do?” 

_ Oh god, what? “ _ Ron!”

“No don't ‘Rob’ me. He's a cu--h. He's a bad guy” The redhead visibly wavers as McGonagall stares him down. A particular word she detests dieing in his mouth before he makes one last misplaced step. “I don't want him to hurt you”

Damn. that soft stubborn idiot. His heart is bigger than his head.

“Ron, I’m not worried, Headmistress McGonagall isn't either. The man hardly looks like he can fight  _ me  _ off. I promise you I will be fine” 

Despite the prominent pout on Ron's face he has no choice but to agree, what with McGonagall staring him down so intently, there's already been enough nonsense for one day and whatever remaining complaint the boy has stays with him. 

There's probably work to do, and Lucius probably  _ really  _ needs that rest. 

“C’mon, were going to the alley to get some things. Probably should get Hermione some more ‘wizarding associated’ clothes, you know, to blend in a bit” Harry suggests. Ok, that's fine, any distraction is welcome and perhaps the cool air outside will cool off Ron's hot head, so long as she doesnt have to wear any real animal pelts or tie bells in her she doesn't mind the idea of maybe dressing like a high fantasy runaway ren-fair worker.

* * *

Wizard clothing is… ridiculous?

That's one word, expensive is another, colorful, fire resistant? Lightning conductive… water repellant… most things either extravagant beyond practicality, or too specifically practical while being garishly unattractive. 

She wonders where Rita Skeeter shops, Hermione wants to go to Wizard prada.

The store Harry drags them into can only be likened to a wizard thrift store. Lines of mismatched odd sized clothes, ones with years of age, others new, some clearly hand made while others could have come from woolworths yesterday. They manage to find a spot in the store that could be generally considered ‘business casual’ by wizarding terms.

“Can’t I just have them enchant my sweatshirt to keep my body in perfect homeostasis or something? I don't think I  _ need _ a self tying corset or dragon proof slacks” Hermione can't help but to winge at the range of limitations she has before her. These things could at least look a bit nicer, or perhaps that's just what comes with the magic.

“What about this?” Harry chimes from over a wooden rack of clothing “I dont think its cursed or enchanted, but its got a lot of pockets and looks like it’d fit?” He's not wrong. He holds up what seems to be a deep grey suede jacket, The sleeves messily embroidered by hand with a trim of glittering silver stars and constellations. The inside was a soft silk and lined with nine small pockets on the inside of each front half. Squirrel brain activated, perhaps she will buy this one.

She tries it on, the fit is good, sleeves two inches too long and almost cover her thumbs but otherwise, somehow, a good find.

“Bloody hell!” its Ron’s turn to harp from his corner of the room. “You know how we always thought Hermione would be a ravenclaw?”

“Yeah?” Harry immediately picks up what he's putting down, tugging Hermione over as Ron pulls out a set with a flourish. The sweater, skirt and blouse of a Ravenclaw student, evidence of an embroidered name mars the woolen sweaters breast just below an emblem of a wise raven on a deep blue crest. She takes it from Rons hands and looks at it, a cute gesture, what house  _ would _ she be in if she were a witch? 

She remembers the days she spent at home while Harry was away at Hogwarts, How she’d look at the moving photographs he would send the family and draw  _ herself _ in that uniform, black robes billowing proudly in some imaginary wind while she holds her wand high. Her envy of him, it was  _ not fair _ . She traces her fingers over the worn grey wool of the Ravenclaw sweater and sighs. Yeah, it would have been cool, but she's not a young girl in school anymore.

“Oh come on Ron, I can hardly fit in this” She sighs, Though the sweater and blouse would survive her hips can no longer be considered a size 12 as hard as she’d try, no matter how much wriggling. Besides nothing would be creepier than your teacher wearing the same uniform as you right?

“Maybe there’s another one in here, Maybe slytherin? Look for something yellow”

“I think i saw a hufflepuff blazer actually”

“Good luck with that, nerds, I'm going to get my pocket jacket,” Hermione states with a small smile as the boys start excitedly digging into the hand-me-downs, she turns down the hall toward the front of the shop where the keep was. 

The woman tallies her purchases in their weird currency which is a conversion rate she's yet to get the hang of, but from what Harry tells her “the gold ones are like a hundred note”. Before the transaction is over the woman stops and nods to the other item hanging from her arm “will you be wanting this too then?” 

Oh gosh. The uniform. Yeah no, not for her…  _ but perhaps _ . Hermione thinks for a moment  _ If it's just for me then maybe… it might be a large size 12? _ She hasn't spent too frivolously before, surely not in the past few years, but she feels that she just wants this, a treat for herself. And when she's alone she can get her hogwarts books out and put on her sweater and no one will judge her for playing pretend. 

_ I'm an adult damnit. I'm getting the uniform. _ “Ah, yes, this too please”

\+ + + + +

There are a few other supplies they pick up as they go. Harry needing some particular baby blankets for their coming child, due in only a few months, “blessing blankets” they are called, apparently charmed for good health or something. Then some more personalised supplies for Hermione to use when working, including more modern aged ink cartridge filled pens so she can forego the excessive quill and inkpot. Her cursive is terrible and she can only hope others don't hone in on how abstract muggle handwriting looks beside a wizards. 

It’d be embarrassing to have her own handwriting compared to her students. Maybe she will teach them they don't  _ have  _ to write in cursive, that people in the  _ real world _ have a faster, more effective way to write.

Hermione packs her supplies into a bag that Harry hands to her, a pretty small purple item with what looks to be hand sewn beading, very intricate and clearly handmade. “I got it for you actually” Harry begins as she places her new pens inside, followed by a small book and tied off the opening with the drawstrings. “No wait” Ron butts in, reaching out to grab it back from her and open it up, he then takes the paper bag she’d gotten from the  _ wizardy thrift store _ and she watches in amazement as he somehow fits the whole thing inside the beaded bag without a single bulge of overstuffing.

“Its charmed” Harry tells her “The bag was the gift but Ron mentioned you get your hands full fast so we had an extension charm put on it”

_ Bigger on the inside than the outside huh, cool tardis magic. _

“Thank you so much!” Hermione smiled back at them. Her squirrel brain was thoroughly pleased.

\+ + + + +

Tonight Ron and Harry leave her here in Hogwarts, Resuming their Auror work while she mulls over her schedules and figures heads to tails of the cavernous and complex building that is Hogwarts Castle. She's going to have to ask for a map from someone, perhaps McGonagall, unless Mr Malfoy was familiar with the grounds, his son was apparently a student after all.

Harry and Ron escort her up the stairs to her dwelling, both bid her a bye for now, making plans to meet at the great hall at seven to have a last ‘family’ meal together before they have to go back to their lives. The twin paintings were quiet today, one sips tea while the other reads a book in their respective portraits, surrounded by pink and blue azaleas in their gardens.

That's possibly good news, means Mr Malfoy didn't come out here and argue with them, means he didn't try and make an escape. She half expects him to be making himself at home when she pushes open the large wooden door only to find everything as she had left it. Torches out, Crookshanks lazing on the windowsill overlooking the planter boxes, Mr Malfoy’s trunk still sits on the stone floor right outside his door.

It seems he hasn't left at all. Not even a foot out the door even.

Hermione all but tip-toes over to the suitcase to get a closer look. The angry red gem eyes of the snakes stare back up at her and she almost expects them to come alive and bite at her fingers for prying. She can at the very least check to see if he is alright and leave his belongings with him.

She gives a quick rap to the old wood of his door and receives not a single response. He was either a deep sleeper or made his way out of the four plus storey window and  _ that _ would also be a problem. Another knock goes unanswered and perhaps, just  _ maybe _ , he's a deep sleeper. So she decides that it can wait. He's just sleeping, totally hasn't up and left out the third storey or higher window, If he did she’d know.

WIth some time to spare Hermione decides she’s more than earned a good long and  _ hot _ shower after the exhausting events of today. She briefly remembers the directions given to her by McGonagall as she gave them the small tour and pointed to where the bathhouses were. “Do not be surprised if you happen across an odd ghost, she tends to pass from bathroom to bathroom but she's mostly harmless since you're a woman”

She's seen a handful of ghosts, and after the initial shock they don't pay her any mind as she does them, but has yet to meet the fabled bathroom ghost. Hermione gathers a few toiletries and decides to put them in her neat new  _ tardis _ bag, leaving to see the suitcase still outside Mr Malfoy's room, but it’d only been a few minutes anyway. 

What directions she’d forgotten were happily aided by the occasional painting or transparent passerby who happily gave her directions. She was more than delighted with the presentation of the Bathhouse. Clean light cream tiles, rows of roomy shower stalls, some kind of communal hot tub, and another row of mirrors and basins. There were also cabinets and shelves stacked high with towels and toiletries for anyone to use, it reminded her of her few weeks in a shelter and the small locker room style bathroom she shared with ten other women, but they all got a free toothbrush which was nice. 

Hermione steps into a stall, long and keeping a main portion separate from the showerhead itself to keep her belongings and clothing dry, a small latch lock, and scribbles of childish jokes and communication on the back of the door. “Emily Clearlake smells like a griffons backend” “D.A.D.A Sucks” “Beware Myrtle” it was funny to see so many consistencies between schooling for wizards and  _ normal people. _

Its not important now however, Hermione has a date with some hot running water.

* * *

When Hermione returns from her shower she finds that, just like last time, Malfoys luggage is still outside his door. God, Hermione didnt know what to  _ do.  _ She doesnt want to encroach on the personal space of a man imprisoned for being the equivalent of a space nazi, hell, He  _ hates _ her kind, so shes sure the last thing he wants is a ‘ _ muggle _ ’ to come into his room and wake him from whats probably much needed sleep. She’ll wait just a little longer. After dinner, at least she can put his things in his room for him.

* * *

That damn suitcase stares back at Her.

Hermione returns to her chambers a little past ten. It had been a good night, no fights, no babbling, it was almost like old times with the three of them at a table telling stories and jokes and bouncing their energies off eachother. It was great, and her stomach was so full of pasta she fears she may burst. But that  _ fucking trunk _ was still outside Malfoys door. 

He's been asleep since early noon, surely he’d have stirred by now unless things for him were much worse than the Ministry let on.  _ Oh god is he dead in there? _ She paces, a bit of heartburn working its way into her oesophagus, maybe another knock wouldn't hurt?

A succession of four steady and loud knocks that again, go unanswered. 

Surely, it wouldn't hurt to just make sure he's okay. 

The door gives way with an eerie groan into a room plunged in near perfect darkness, the only light coming from slivers of moonlight through the edges of large draped sheets over the windows. She grips Malfoys luggage by its fine silver handle and carries it inside, surprisingly light, she wonders if this too has the  _ tardis _ magic in it. She sets it on the floor just beside his door only inside this time.

“Mister Malfoy?” she asks in a quiet voice. She hears no breathing, no response, nothing. Damn, she doesn't even have a torch. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust as she takes tip-toed steps further into the darkness, almost tripping over herself as she stumbles over an inconsistency in the stonework of the floor, concaving in parts while chunks of stone jutted out sharply in others. 

In the middle of the room a single bed with a metal frame is pressed against a wall. Rather than being  _ on _ the bed, she sees Malfoy sitting almost upright, legs crossed and back leaned against the mattress while his shoulders and head slumped forward. He'd fallen asleep on the floor? The position surely wouldn't be comfortable. She pesters him again “Mister Malfoy?” just a bit louder.

He doesn't stir, so she comes to kneel just close enough to him. His eyes were closed, light, and she thinks she can make out the fluttering of his eyeballs beneath the lids. He is dreaming. Brows set in a seemingly permanent frown in his resting state. Maybe old man wizards sleep a lot? And on the ground? She honestly doesnt actually  _ know _ whats normal for wizards, but at least for a human, sleeping this long upright cant be good for a forty something year old man whos fresh out of prison.

She reaches out a tentative hand and places it on his shoulder, she feels how much fabric bunches and just how much free space he’d had hiding beneath that threadbare sweater of his, just how  _ thin _ he is. He feels bony beneath it all. Her own stomach turns, starvation, wasting away, she remembers the feeling like her skin was going to start peeling off and the urge to dig into her shallow cheeks.

She shakes the revulsion away, memories to dwell on another time.

“Mister Malfoy, Are you alright? Can you hear me?” Hermione tries again with a succession of gentle shakes that make the Man's head bob slowly. Suddenly she can hear his breath, a sharp intake, and he awakens with a jolt before returning to almost-stone, his eyes do not open. “Sir?” perhaps another shake won't hurt?

Lucius’ hand darts out whip fast and pushes her hand away.

Hes awake alright, and fucking  _ terrified. _ The mans eyes wide and searching the corners of the dark room, already shrinking, backing himself away, crawling, till his eyes land on her and she watches the lower lid twitch and lips curl to bare the slightest amount of teeth at her. 

“What do you want!” he barks, voice still hoarse and throat dry.

“Im not going to hurt you, you just looked uncomf-” 

“Do not touch me, do you understand muggle? You will  _ never touch me” _

Hell, if she’d known he would be this defensive she would have left him to wake with a sore neck. But there's something in the way his eyes continue to flit about the room that unsettles her, how he pulls himself almost into a ball but puffs his chest at the same time, he wants to be small, but threatening enough to scare her away. She's watched enough national geographic to compare him to a cornered dog, fangs out but tail tucked.

She stands and backs up, hands up by her sides. The last time she’d done something like this was after a shelter resident had a bad high and was lashing out at the other residents. And damn who knows what a freaked out wizard can do.

“Im sorry” she tells him “I just wanted to bring you your things. I’ll go”

“Good, be gone. I was perfectly fine as I was”

_ The attitude of this man _ . “Fine, have fun sleeping on the floor”

Hermione couldn't be out of there faster. As soon as she shuts the door and leaves the man in his dark dark room she lets out a breath that had been trapped in her chest since he opened his eyes. Wow. ok. Hopefully this isnt going to be every interaction or she may have to hire a new guard. But this wasnt going to go unchecked. Something is  _ wrong _ .  _ Very wrong. _ She just hopes as the days go he can grow more beyond whatever happened to him in that prison.

With a heaviness over her, both emotional and physical exhaustion, She drops like a dead weight onto her bed, Crookshanks jumping up beside her and making himself comfortable beside her head.

Hermione tells herself she will speak with someone about it tomorrow. Maybe McGonagall. Maybe someone else. If she wants this teacher thing to work she needs to get her bodyguard to work first.

  
  
  


I did a thing here because im awful at room descriptions!  
[Badly drawn bedroom diagram](https://sta.sh/0geqzcwpjzn)  
and [Badly drawn Bedroom diagram with descriptions! ](https://sta.sh/0uys1rblsz7)  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look Lucius has some things hes gotta get out of his system.  
> rip his tailbone tho. oof.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius is moving a bit more but that doesnt mean hes not an ass about it.
> 
> Chapter warnings: implied self harm, blood, talk and mention of suicide, and a panic attack.  
> also: threatening language and being jerks to each other in general.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a little longer! <3 had to deep clean the house for an inspection!

It takes a whole 36 hours before Lucius leaves the room he's given.

The morning after Hermione tries to give herself excuses to stay inside,  _ just in case _ . He might be a bit of a dick but honestly she expects that from a man who's obviously traumatised, she just wants to make sure he's  _ alright _ . Sometimes her empathy takes the front seat of her mind.

She sits on her couch, the one facing towards his door with her back to her own door. A pile of books beside her while she sits, knees tucked beneath herself, she loses herself in learning. Her mind is an ever absorbing sponge for information.

The tome in her lap had been brought in by Finnie, the house elf, who also generously supplied her with afternoon tea because she ‘hads the feelings’ that Hermione might want something to fill her stomach. So she nurses a cooling teacup of chamomile tea, her honey crumpets long gone save for a separate plate of two that had been set aside for when Mr Malfoy finally decided to show himself. 

Its the slow creak of his chamber door that caught her attention, her eyes flitting up from “ _ Hogwarts: A history”  _ to see his pale bony fingers slip through the barely-there crack of the door, widening it just enough for his steely grey eyes to peak out and squint into the autumn afternoon light. He's cautious, slow moving, but more  _ together _ than he was a day prior, he's animated at least.

She stays quiet, pretending not to notice him, and flips the page despite not being finished, she doubts she’ll need to know exactly how many trees were originally planted in the courtyard unless its a secret passage to unlocking some secret innate wizard powers she didn't know she had. But alas. She's got a skittish wizard to tame.

Lucius watches her for a long moment, assessing the area he is in, and almost like a cat slides his lithe body out from the darkness and takes his first tentative steps in the sunlight. His eyes clearly bothered and stressed from such exposure, and despite how long she assumed he was asleep the heavy dark bags beneath his eyes hardly lifted.

She tries in her lightest voice possible, friendly as she could, to engage with him.

“Good to see you are up. How are you feeling?” she asks.

His gaze snaps to her in a glare. That tension rolls off him in waves, the little twitches, the way his hands immediately ball into fists, he’s defensive. She looks away from his burning eyes back down to the page she has sat open, a large diagram of a prior headmaster's favorite jig and the 43 exact steps to perfect it. 

He does not respond to her, but she can hear his cautious stuttered pacing. Every so often her eyes flick over to him to see his slow assessment of their living quarters, his hands are flexing in a rhythm between a tense fist and rolling his knuckles, he's even still wearing what he’d worn on the train just the other day. He lingers on the stack of tiered benches, and as if drawn to them he makes his way over and takes an unsteady seat while eyeing the aged wood.

Ok, he has some responses, he's alert again and responsive which is good. He probably just needed to take some time to adjust. He traces some of the writing with an overgrown fingernail while Hermione tries again to gauge his attention. “Were in an old classroom, they did it up for us”

“I know exactly where I am” his reply is terse, bristling.

“Oh, okay”

She lets another beat pass before she turns the page again, still not entirely paying attention. The really early stuff wasn't that important anyway save for the occasional descriptions of wild and wonderful magic or secret passages within the castle.

“There's some crumpets here if you want to eat” 

“I am fine” 

“You haven't eaten in at least two days you need-”

“I don’t need your nosy pandering,  _ girl _ ” he says ‘ _ girl _ ’ with such vitriol it makes her stomach do a flip. “Leave me be, I will return” He stands, glare still held fast on her when he rises on weak legs.  _ Where is he going? _ Hermione wants to ask him of course, but he has made it clear he has no intention of being cooperative or kind. He turns for the short hall to the door, each step rocking his frame just so as he feebly hides a limp, having foregone his walking cane just to be out of this room as soon as possible. 

Before she could even shout at him to wait hes slamming the door shut much harder than she’d expect an emaciated old man wizard to be capable of.

_ What a miserable dick. _ Fine. He can choke on that pride of his while he disappears to god knows where. At least she's trying damnit! Hermione feels the twinge of tension that comes when she scrunches her face in frustration just a little  _ too hard _ .

_ Breathe hermione, breathe.  _

She stares back at the door for just a moment, simply meditating on the moment before going back to her book. At least she can say she tried today, and she's actually interested in some of this, she's gotta keep her notes on places that could hide  _ wizardy secrets _ .    
  
Over an hour passes that she fails to notice, much too engrossed in her learning, it is only when an overly obnoxious and vocal Crookshanks makes his way from her bedroom to the livingspace to take seat on one of the benches. Hermione places her book to the side and stands, reaching to the shelf within the coffee table where a silver hand bell sits. She's been instructed to use this to call for Finnie any time she's required, she's essentially an on call maid, room service in a castle, and a decent conversationalist with a penchant for gossip. 

The bell chimes loud enough to agitate her ears, so no wonder the elf hears it from wherever she may be in the castle, and within a heartbeat the large eared creature is apparating at the entrance of her chambers. 

“is there something we are needing, Miss?” Her wide eyes blinked expectantly, almost eager for command.  _ God, what an existence house elves live. To take pleasure in servitude. _ “Thank you for coming so fast” Hermione begins, the little one assuring it was ‘none problems at all’, with a sigh she continues “Could you please bring something to cover these with and clear the plates? That bugger isn't going to eat while I'm around, but I thought maybe if I left them…”

“It is a good idea Miss!” Finnie claps her bony small hands in agreement.

With a snap of her fingers the little house elf was out and back to her living space now carrying a ceramic dome that appears to fit the plate perfectly, the little one tapped the lid a couple times with her fingers, making the dome rattle noisily, shed performed some kind of magic on it.

“What did you do?” Hermione asks.

“Oh, I am apologizing Miss, Finnie did not ask first, did Miss want her food being warm or cool. Finnie made it warm Miss” 

She became apologetic very quickly, bowing her head deeply, her large ears drooping low to her shoulders, keeping those large eyes trained on the ground at her little booted feet. “Hey now, it's alright. I think Mister Malfoy wouldn't mind some nice warm crumpets, no one would”

“Thank you Miss, oh thank you, Finnie is getting better at remembering to ask I promises”

“Is Finnie a new Hogwarts elf?” 

“Yes! Finnie was found at trading fields, many other creatures sold like Finnie, the very large Hagrid brings Finnie here to serve the great Hogwarts Castle”

Its not surprising that there's essentially a slave trade for these things, and a black market for all things weird and wild the magical world can find a cruel use for, it was human nature after all, magical or not. Hermione thanks Finnie and lets her whisk away all the remaining dishes to take to the kitchens while Hermione slips into Lucius’ room, intending to leave the plate on the floor somewhere for him.

However the room was...concerning.

In the midday sunlight she can see a lot more of this room than the night prior, the uneven floor she’d seen is actually a large gauge in the cobblestone, like something very large had come crashing through the wall made impact with the floor, tearing into the stained glass windows that mirror those in her own room and are now covered up by thick black fabric tarp that block out most light save for thin beams that scatter across the room. 

He had just a wardrobe and a bed that looked like it was almost as old as he was, metal framed with marks of rust at its bolts, she was familiar with the discomfort of those from the shelter, all sharp springs and strange creaking in the night. Were they seriously going to give her a fucking  _ canopy bed _ while he slept like a homeless person?  _ This better be temporary. _

_ Ok, the bed will do, he’ll have no choice but to interact with this temptingly warm plate  _ Hermione tells herself, yeah, he's probably going to come back, sit down on the floor again and sleep on his butt for another 48 hours. Whatever. So long as he  _ eats something _ . 

The sheets are actually disturbed, which is good. It means he did something, maybe he grumpily got into bed after she visited, a likely scenario if he were anywhere near as much of a stubborn oaf as Ron. She pushes the sheets back so there's enough space to put down the plate and is greeted by a very unsettling sight.

_ That's quite a bit of blood. _

It's in uneven patches, some parts where it's soaked in more and others where it's been wiped, from the angle of the swipes its more likely a wound on a limb than the body, and mostly concentrated on the left side of the sheets. Its a mess and a fresh one. Her concern for this man just seems to stack higher bit by bit every day, the amount of times she affirms to herself  _ there's something wrong _ is becoming too many in such a small space of time.

She has to find him.

She has no idea where to start. 

Hermione abandons the plate on his mattress atop the crimson painting and almost  _ runs _ for the door, making her way out and nearly tripping over crookshanks in her haste. She has to find McGonagall first, she knows everything right?

* * *

Really, Hermione is grateful that McGonagall is as outwardly relaxed as she always is, because while the Headmistress is collected and wise Hermione is a pressure cooker of negative thoughts and worry as the two make their way down the corridors to meet with Hagrid by the courtyard doors. 

“‘Ello there Er’mione, Headmistress McGonagall” He greets heartily with his chubby hands clasped on the belt around his waist “what seems to be the problem?”

McGonagall speaks for Hermione. “We seem to have lost track of our guard, have you seen him at all?” there's a quirk to the half-giants brow, pursing his lips. “When I was makin’ me way out to the lake to check me nets I think I seen him on the bridge wreck I did”

“The eastern bridge, Hagrid?” 

“Yeah, I think so, why?”

“Be a dear and mobilise the ghosts, see if he's anywhere else in the castle. Perhaps hes taking a stroll down memory lane, hm? I'm sure he will turn up”

_ Yeah, turn up dead. He's starving and could be bleeding still, could be badly hurt. And he's going to be a  _ wanker _ about being given help!.  _

“Where is the bridge?” Hermione asks impatiently. “Upstairs on level three, went out to the forest -it did- before longbottom blew it up in the battle”. Back up the stairs it is then, when Harry said all the stairs are going to be the best cardio work out he wasn't kidding. McGonagall can hardly keep pace with her shouting down the corridors that she is perhaps overthinking things.  _ I'm not overthinking, I'm fine. No time to waste. Gotta find this guy. Could be hurt. _

She doesn't even know  _ why _ she's worried. He's an asshole, but he's a suffering one, and though she's reluctant to acknowledge it her empathy can overpower her common sense. She doesnt know exactly where eastern side of the castle is just yet but given the lower layout she can guess,  _ kinda _ . 

Hermione wrenches open any doors larger than the average storage or classroom just to make sure, though some were still just supply rooms with unreasonably large doors. She comes across a long hall of shining chalices and medallions, trophies and other beautiful prizes on pedestals and glass display cases, some suspended in a slow rotation to show them off. This was the trophy room she remembers vaguely mentioned

“Mister Malfoy?” she shouts down the hall, it echoes around her in the emptiness of it all but gets no response, not even a little hiss of bitterness.  _ No good, gotta keep going _ . The next room is full of suits of armor, another plea of his name goes unanswered, It honestly feels to her like searching for a lost cat down the street, remembering that one terrible week where crookshanks didn't come home for a whole  _ three days _ when she was sixteen.   
  
It was only a matter of time before she started thinking like an old man to predict his next movement wherever he may be. 

A set of double doors lead her to an outside corridor, the stone path covered in a healthy blanket of amber leaves. Its pure curious instinct that drives her forward, stepping out into a small courtyard fitted with the same stone benches and abundant floristry as the courtyard on the opposite side of the castle. But then,  _ that must be it!  _

What else around here could look like a “blown up” bridge.

From the castle side the bridge hardly extends further than a few splintered meters out towards a churning deep chasm. Hermione steps onto the wood frame to inspect it, closer to the stone foundation it is stronger, a few knicks of damage in the wood's worn surface. The further out she got the more the boards creaked and shuddered. That's definitely not safe, this place was sorely in need of some yellow tape before the new school year started.

Looking down was her worst mistake however. 

A sheer drop into angry waves crashing against sharp rocks. Even if one were to survive the fall they’d quickly be swept up into the churning mass and pulled under. This kind of thing would  _ never _ fly with a modern board of education, it's got ‘lawsuit’ written all over it.

Even here, Lucius Malfoy is nowhere to be found. 

_ Oh shit. Oh no. _

Hermione's heart hammers in her chest, a smothering heat she hasn't felt for months now creeping up her throat and tightening her lungs.  _ It's all my fault, I didn't try hard enough. I hardly even knew him. Of course hes dead, its a suicide. He was on the bridge for a reason, he knows the castle. _

_ Breathe Hermione, breathe.  _

Panic attacks were not common for her in her youth. Save for the first one she had during her highschool graduation ball when she forgot the steps she’d practiced so hard to memorize. The fear of embarrassing herself set her over the edge. But now, it's burning and hot with fear, and  _ guilt. _

She hates to admit it because the comparisons are so skewed, but she's seen the same empty bitterness in people, the swing between a complete vacancy of being to his paranoid fearful self. When she said there was something  _ wrong _ she means mentally. Hermione had been there the day a share-housemate had simply given up, tired of being haunted by her own ghosts, and like the dog backed into a corner she went down snarling, tail tucked, and foaming at the mouth.    
  
It's not something you get over easily, watching someone die like that, so violently by their own hand. That accompanied by the passing months of no contact with her own brother and childhood friend, considering them as good as dead some days and nearly praying for their return on others. If she could pinpoint the moment she became  _ different _ she would recount this period of time specifically. Before the panic attacks, before the depression, before everything. 

Hermione backs away from the wreckage of the bridge. Breathing deep through her mouth to keep herself grounded, what few things she learned from her three free therapy sessions fly far out the window while her limbs turn to lead and shake. Like last time, and the time before that, Hermione feels herself leave her body somehow, like she's floating in a dizzy state above and watching her body shut down below. 

Someone should be here soon, or she will tire herself out and this too will pass. Her breathing comes so fast she has to crouch just to keep herself from toppling over, fingers now raking up into her hair and clasping at the back of her skull till she tucked herself into a comfortable fetal ball while she waits out the overstimulation. She does what feels right, she rocks, she hums, counts forward and backwards by twos, till she feels the cool bony fingers of McGonagall settle on her head.

The woman murmurs something, likely a spell, she cant quite hear in this state. But almost immediately the thick cloud of panic and swirling thoughts dissipate, the loudness now quiet, and she can hear the wind rushing past her ears again.

“-nger, can you hear me, Miss granger?” 

Looking up, Hermione sees the worried eyes of McGonagall, her wrinkled brow creased deep with concern. She can see some kind of recognition in the girls eyes because her worry lessens. Hermione can’t quite find her tongue yet, the adrenaline in her body draining fast and leaving her fatigued, but she's at least aware, and nods at Hagrid who lumbers over out of breath himself.

“Bloody oath you two are fast” she huffs, taking a moment to brace an arm on the stone wall that stands beside the bridge archway to catch his breath. “Was e’, y’ know, down there?” The half giant asks with a jerk of his head towards the wreckage, not quite reading the room, well,  _ garden _ to be more precise.

Hermione shakes her head. No he wasn't. But the thought was enough to shake her. 

McGonagall places a hand to her chest and releases her own baited breath. At least Hermione wasn't the only one who had expected the worst. “Oh what a relief, I am sure Lucius is somewhere. He's got a tracer charm on him with the ministry, we can ask for their lead in case he makes a habit of vanishing” The Headmistresses voice was light, an edge of shakiness to her voice thats uncommon.

McGonagall turns to Hagrid and begins discussing something. Voices hushed, its not meant for her but she strains her tired ears. “Are you sure you didn't see him jump, Rubeus?”

“Course not, e’ was just standin’ there”

“We will check with the ghosts once they finish their rounds. Perhaps the shore-”

Hermione didn't want to listen anymore. No more than three days and her guard has probably already killed himself, someone should really look into how prisoners are being treated in these wizard prisons if their first taste of freedom has them yearning for an end.

Closing her eyes, she let herself get carried away with the sound of rushing wind and crashing waves.

* * *

Tired.

Hermione was Tired, no, more than that, exhausted.

McGonagall had insisted on keeping her by her side in case she sends herself into a fit again, they sit and wait in McGonagall’s office, going through more revisions of her teaching schedule to keep her mind off things while they wait on their ghosts, each having passed their translucent heads through the wall to claim catching small glimpses of a ‘broody limping man’ on the third floor hours ago but now, no sign.

“Perhaps he’s gone back to his chambers” The Headmistress reassures her “worried yourself sick over a scenic route to the lavatory”

He better be. She's mad that he's been rude, mad that she’d gotten so worked up, the lingering effects of her trauma weren’t his burden to cater to. But oh, she wanted to give him a piece of her mind and its just the end of day three.

At the very least. Hermione has her plan set and ready. Her classes enthusiastically approved by the Headmistress who keeps the air light and joking enough to pass the evening by with little worry in her mind. Five separate topics all lined up, all she has to do is reeducate herself and pre-plan a month's worth of introductory lectures. Something actually  _ exciting _ in the mind of Hermione Granger, this kind of mental stimulation long overdue after dropping her last year of highschool to avoid being a casualty of a wizarding war. 

The two finally break from their drafted plans when the cuckoo clock on the wall chimed for 10pm. Bewitched for the ghostly image of a cuckoo bird to fly about the room singing its loud song while another ghost of a cat chases it, the intangible creatures avoiding certain catastrophe as they phase through furniture, stacks of papers and delicately balanced china sets. 

“I believe it is time you head off to bed, Miss Granger. Its been a long day for you”

_ Thats an understatement _ . There was nothing Hermione wanted more than to sink into that deliciously soft mattress with her little gargoyle friends and sleep till sunrise. McGonagall produces a little silver bell, the same kind left in Hermione’s dwelling, and rings it to bring forth none other than Finnie again. She comes bouncing in with a flourish, in high spirits it seems. 

“What is it the Headmistress is needing?” she asks as she skips over.

“Be a dear and accompany Miss Granger back to her rooms, It’s late”

“Of course Mistress! Finnie is happy to help”

The little house elf waits patiently at the side of the armchair Hermione sits in, wringing her hands in the fabric of her tunic. The small mess on the coffee table is sorted into a neat section of piles, one for Hermione to take back to her room while the others are charmed to stay in place and not topple over.  _ The convenience of magic _ .

McGonagall bids them goodnight, the woman taking her leave to return to her own chambers for the night, while Finnie and Hermione walk in the opposite direction towards the stairwell. In the passing torchlight Hermione can’t help but to stare at the creature. Scientifically she shouldn't exist, but magically she just does, a head too large for her bony small body, eyes like christmas baubles and ears that she could nearly take flight with, and they weren’t an attractive species by a long mile.

Finnie had thin lips and an upturned nose, eyelashes that are very few but large in size and speckle the outer corners of her lids. As far as the house elfs go Finnie is very average, she might not even be able to distinguish her from a crowd of them. Unless. Upon closer inspection. She has a birthmark she never noticed on the right side of her head.

_ Wait. no that was never there. _

“Did you have a little accident, Finnie?” Hermione asks. 

Finnie blinks up at her and almost trips over her own feet, her hand coming to the exact side where the mark was.  _ So shes aware its there _ . The House elf giggles to herself before explaining “Finnie did a little trouble actually. Cleaning Finnie was, in mistresses chambers”

Hermione points to herself to verify to which the elf nods before continuing.

“A very much mess, Finnie needed the buckets and the mops and help. A rude wizard did not help Finnie and whacked her with a stick so Finnie put him in another room”

“A rude wizard? Is that who hit you?”  _ Malfoy! _

“Yes, so Finnie locks him away till Mistress comes back”

“Locked him away?” 

“Yes, in the closet in the messy room”

_ Oh boy... _

\+ + + + +

The repurposed classroom is in order when Hermione comes barreling through the door with Finnie in tow, the house elf claiming furniture had been upturned, papers shredded and Crookshanks precariously placed in a nest of vines high on the wall, all now expertly cleaned by magical little elf hands. The door to Mr Malfoy's room was open however.

She's going to free the idiot and give him a thorough lashing. Wizard nazi status be damned. He damaged her things, he (unintentionally) gave her a panic attack, cruelly put Crookshanks up where his fat self can’t jump down from, and worst of all, he  _ hit Finnie. _

“Where is he?” Hermione asks, feeling her teeth grit in frustration. 

“He is on the wall at the back of the room, Mistress. But Finnie locked it with magic”

“Can you unlock it for me please?”

They both pass through the door to Malfoys own room, the bed had been stripped bare, sheets being washed, and new ones placed over top with not a single drop of crimson on it. “It was very messy here, very messy” Finnie chirps up, skipping past the bedframe to the wall on the furthest end, in the darkness she can vaguely make out the shape of a narrow door.

Finnie knocked on it cautiously. On the other side a muffled shout called back.    
  


“Leave” 

_ What, does he want to be locked in a closet? _

“Unlock the door Finnie” 

“If the Mistress wishes it”

The little house elf snaps her fingers and a sound is heard from within the door, like a lock moving. She half expects Mr Malfoy to leave of his own accord but there is nothing, and that is enough to make her just that little bit more angry. Finnie backs away when Hermione approaches and just barely manages to avoid smacking her little elf butt on the door as its forcefully wrenched open.

“You!” Hermione growls. 

Blinking up into the dim light Lucius Malfoy stares back. He sits lazily on a small stool in front of a low shelf right beside the door, like a bare workstation almost. His hair had been re-tied with all loose strands moved out of the way and in the dark she can see the pallor of his face has changed just so, but his eyes bite through the darkness and shine with that same taunting glare in her direction. 

“Close the door, I was beginning to like it in here” He says, voice lazy and sardonic.

_ God, I won’t slap him. I won’t do it. But i want to _

“What on earth is your problem?” Hermione hisses at him. Malfoys brows crease, the glare sharpening somehow. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest and she now notices his threadbare sweater has been removed, leaving him in a charcoal dress shirt rolled to his elbows that was more than a size too large for him. 

Up and down the inner wrist of his left arm is a mess of bandages and she can still make out bloodied fingerprints on his sleeves. He's a mess. She can honestly already tell what his problem is but damn she wants to hear him say it, wants him to be sorry for hurting her feelings, for hurting Finnie, for inadvertently ruining her childhood with his other shitty wizard friends who damn near killed her brother.

“I have no problems”

“Are you fucking kidding me? No problems, Look at your arms! Look at Finnie and the mess you made her clean up! Where did you even go today?”

“It is none of your business”

“It's my business when the last place you are seen is the edge of a cliff! It's my business when you're abusing the house elves and bleeding all over the bedding! The Ministry said you're my responsibility but you're not making it easy for me, do you even  _ want  _ to get better?”

Lucius stands abruptly, something has clearly triggered him, but the weakness of his body gets the best of him when he has to slump against the workbench just to hold his height above her. “You have no idea what's happening  _ muggle _ , best you keep up your charade of a good little poster child till you get your payout and I can finally be at rest”

“Firstly, call me  _ Muggle _ again and I won't hesitate to deck you, Second, what the bloody hell are you even going on about?”

“Of course they are keeping you in the dark” Lucius Malfoy actually laughs, It's as empty as she had expected. “Do you think any of this is coincidental at all? The convenient job opening, the press coverage, selecting  _ me _ of all people in that program. Think about it  _ girl _ ”   
  
“I have a name!”

“I am sure you do. Now, if you will excuse me -”

Hermione slams her hands on the frame of the door to box him in, teeth gritted,  _ damn  _ she was just  _ so frustrated _ . If there was one thing she could hardly handle it was when she was spoken down to, like she was some stupid little child. 

“Sit your ass back down, Malfoy” 

For some reason, he complies. Be it his tired old man body or real obedience she doesn't care.

“This is the first good thing to happen to me in  _ years _ , so if you hate it here so much, be my guest, we’ll sign the papers and you get to go back to your lovely prison far far away. But if you like being free  _ stop being a wanker _ ” 

“You're offering me one prison in place of another. I have no freedoms here”

“This prison has good food, good people, and no sucking ghosts. Will you be good and stay here or not!?”

“Sucking ghosts..”

“Answer my question!”

Malfoy leans back at this, ok, her point is getting across that she's mad. She doesn't  _ want _ to go through a bunch of misbehaving wizards till she finds one that will just shut up and make sure she doesn't get killed mid class, it's not that hard, it's just one job. Surely this man can cope.

“Fine” he states “however your meddling stops here, I'm not your friend and hardly a colleague, what us  _ wizards _ do is none of your business, if I happen to shed a bit of blood while on my down time so be it”

“The Ministry asked me to report on-”

“The Ministry looks at you like a rodent in a testing cage, whatever you report will fall on deaf ears lest a powerful wizard is speaking for you so please, be my guest, give them something to laugh at so they ease off of  _ me _ for once”

_ Why is this man such an asshole? _

The exchange was beginning to ware on her, her fingers tighten on the doorframe and she bites her lip. Fuck. that was a little too scathing. But she wont cry. Not here where it can be a tool for this  _ huge dick  _ of a man to use against her later.

“Fine” Hermione agrees. Tone clipped. Behind her, Finnie whines, Hermione watches as Malfoy's eyes line up with the elf and he sneers in disgust. She clears her throat to get his attention back,  _ don't you glare at her she's done  _ nothing _ wrong here.  _ “But If you abuse a single house elf again,  _ wizard _ , I am given permission to arrange ministry operated punishments, the same goes for any bad behavior, understand?”

There's that resentment right back where it belongs. Those cold grey eyes that seem to burn a hole through the center of her skull with the strength of his loathing. 

“I understand completely”

  
  


Hermione leaves him in his closet, closing the door forcefully in his face, followed by an accompanying slam of his bedroom door. “Is Mistress alright?” Finnie asks, timid little footsteps shuffling close behind her. Its not till then that Hermione recognizes she's shaking again. Its hot rage, adrenaline again, she's not used to intense confrontations like this and damn is it draining.

“I'm fine, Finnie, just tired. You should go to bed too”

Bed couldn't come fast enough, to hell with pajamas, to hell with a skincare routine. Brushing her teeth? That's a morning problem. She was utterly exhausted. Throwing herself on the mattress and kicking herself out of all her clothes she tries to settle her angry mind for rest, fleeting ideas of better comebacks or biting retorts for the unpleasant exchange she’d had. If only she had the time to get that upper hand, because damn she's thinking of some good comebacks.

  
  


Hermione falls asleep thinking of hateful grey eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beep boop angsty enemies to lovers here we go


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets caught in a kerfuffle.  
> something something muggle studies  
> something something welcome feast  
> lucius gets quite emo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my lateness! had a house inspection/pest inspection/health complications all in one.   
> was dope. anyway.   
> CHAPTER WARNINGS  
> spooky stuff, talk of bad mental health.  
> descriptions of suicidal thoughts.

Over days Hermione soon learns most of the main corridors of the Hogwarts castle, every day ringing her silver bell to bring Finnie along with her while she walks to catch up on the little bits of elf gossip so she's prepared in case another witch wants to talk of a scandal. Definitely not putting off having to keep Malfoy as company, she just  _ prefers _ Finnie.

The little elf pulls a wooden cart behind her for cleaning supplies, refusing Hermione's help, because “house elves is strongest” despite their frail looking bodies. She hardly breaks a sweat or misses a step, even bouncing happily as she goes.

“-and what did Finnie find? Biggest spider egg that Finnie ever saw! Master was hiding acromantula babies with no license!”

Finnie prattles on about her old master. She's gone through quite a bit and to Hermione's surprise the little house elf is at the ripe young age of thirty three. After apparently exposing her master to the Ministry for dabbling in dark artifacts she was surrendered and sold to the House elf slave trade where Hagrid picked her up.

“Messes at Hogwarts are always good messes. Children make them and nobody yells at Finnie” 

_ Save from the old man's stick I suppose.  _

“And you like doing this, cleaning?”   
  


“Mistress Granger does ask this a lot. Finnie likes it here”

“I know, just making sure”

Consensual slavery will always be a mindset far beyond Hermiones understanding but she will trust in what the elf feels is right. After all, if she had issue with Hogwarts she surely wouldn't be here, none of them would surely.

They find their way to the fourth storey where she was told the nearest classroom supplies were stowed away, safe from the damage of the war and still in relatively good shape. Most things are somewhat… archaic. Large rolling chalkboards on wheels with rusted hinges, little black cauldrons stacked in neat pillars, boxes of chalk and quills and ink, replacement and training wands, some odd sports equipment shoved far in the back.

It was a mish-mash of different items but some of them may be useful, probably not the discolored glass bottles of dark liquid, or the sportsball covered in hair, and definitely not the iron maiden in the back corner.

Hermione procures a small list she’d written up on a scrap of parchment. McGonagall had assured her most things were already prepared in her classroom that she briefly had a look at, but there were things that just made things  _ easier _ for someone not magically gifted like a damn ruler that doesn't curve away from her from a jinx, or hell, an office chair wouldn't hurt. All the wooden stools and carved armchairs the other teachers seemed to enjoy were far from her type, though something soft and cushioned did seem tempting. 

She needs to get over the longing for a whiteboard and their convenient markers and settles for a few packs of colored chalk, she's going to have to exercise her drawing hand a bit, followed by spare writing implements for students. She even comes across an interesting little box of bits and bobs and  _ stickers _ to give to well behaved students.

Hermione was told she’d be teaching first and second years to start off with, the easy stuff, once you learn how to tame the young ones the older students should be no problem apparently. Shes actually  _ excited _ to see the little ones come filing into her classroom for the first time, there was a time in her life where she considered maybe being a teacher, or a politician, someone to teaches and leads, and this feels almost perfect.

_ Almost _ .

The quick pitter patter of Finnie's booted feet snap her out of her reverie, the elf stumbling through the door accompanied by an unexpected cold wind that seemed to drop the temperature of the room to a deep chill. The little elf looking just a bit more pale, a little shaken, she’d been out in the corridor dusting the windowsills and trimming the new wicks of the oil lamps till now.

“Mistress Granger you must get back” She speaks in haste, pushing the door closed with a heavy thump and snapping her fingers, a reflective sheen shining over the wooden surface as if behind a sheet of glass.

“What is going on, Finnie?” 

The little house elf tries to keep her cool, but the nerves have her bouncing between panic and self comforting, fear and protectiveness, every time her large eyes stray too far from the door shes snapped back into place like something dangerous lurks on the other side.

“Finnie?” Hermione presses again.

She startles, her large ears drooping down low on her shoulders, shes making herself small. “It is not much Mistress, Finnie promises. Please stay here with Finnie”

“Not much? You’re shaking you poor thing” 

“Please listen Mistress, Finnie needs to get a message to the Headmistress right now. You must  _ stay, _ Finnie is not strong enough”

_ What on earth is out there thats so dangerous _ .

The look of pure desperation in Finnies eyes is enough to keep her in her spot, she’d rather not die by magical mishap or a rampaging beast in the halls, whatever it is its not for her. She places her box of goods on a low bench and takes a seat while Finnie worries, biting her little nails and fretting over leaving and the strength of the apparent barrier spell she’d cast on the door.

“Its ok, i’ll wait right here, go get McGonagall” 

She looks back to Hermione with a slight wobble to her lip before snapping her fingers and disappearing in a plume of disintegrating mist, and then she is alone again, her box of supplies in her still waiting hands. She hopes Finnie and McGonagall don't take too long, Its an ominous feeling, to be completely vulnerable in a place where things possess powers no mere human can defend from.

All she can do is wait it out. They'll be back in no time.

The box is abandoned on a table while Hermione, staying in the small storage room, continues to snoop, she figured the further back she was the safer she may be. The light seemed to dim through the windows accompanied by the distinctive sound of ice-stressed glass, clicking in a way that grates on her eardrums.

_ You read many of Harry’s books, come on Hermione. What could it be.  _

Of the few textbooks Harry was able to smuggle away from Hogwarts, something that would have surely been frowned upon by the Ministry if they found out at the time, she had tried to learn and memories as much of the wizarding world as possible, from spells she’ll never cast to beasts she may never see in her life.

There were spells to create cold, spells to create darkness, that much she did know, but who or what could be casting it she couldn't understand. The old threat to the castle had been vanquished, Voldemort no more than a pile of ash in the wind, but that doesn't mean there might not be an unknown uprising, or perhaps a giant ice breathing dragon that descended on the castle.  _ Can dragons even breathe ice?  _

Hermione watches as her breath comes out in short puffs of steam as she draws closer to the window. Maybe whatever it is can be seen out there she figures, maybe she can settle both her curiosity and nerves if she just  _ knew _ . Her fingertips meet the chilled glass and its as if all color is drawn from her digits on contact, this shouldn't be happening, its August.

Squinting, she can just barely make out a shape, or shapes, two of them above in the sky amongst the dark rolling clouds, their forms warped by the ice spreading on the window.  _ What flies and is a black blob. Cold, flying, dark, think Hermione, think.  _ She comes up with nothing, the forms just too blurry to comprehend. 

Suddenly. The glass splinters.

“AAH!” 

Hermione reels back with a shriek as what seems to be a gnarled black hand had slammed into the window before her, Not breaking, but so close, leaving a large dented spiderweb crack beneath its claws. She trips backwards over the damned cauldrons, taking the stacks with her as she falls and dragging their heavy cast iron weight down on top of her.  _ Oof, that hurt.  _

Her vision swims with blotches of black that close in on her periphery and shes vaguely aware of a throbbing pain in the back of her skull.  _ Gotta get up. Wheres finnie?  _ The being outside raises, its large dark form covering all light that dared pass through and plunges the storage room into a frightening darkness. 

_ Is this it? Do I die here before I even have the chance to teach my first class? How Ironic. _

The pain in her skull only seems to increase with every passing second, she must have hit her head on the stone floor pretty hard when she fell, and the mounting adrenaline wasn't doing her any favors either.  _ Fuck _ . All she can do is scramble back as far as she could till her back meets the base of an old wooden chest, rattling the insides.

Outside the creature howls, like the dry heaving scream of a zombie in movies she’d seen, it slaps its hand on the glass again, weaker now, and in a different spot, shaking pieces of the splintered glass to the ground in a resounding chime. If it was smart it would break the window, come in and rip her up or turn her into a human popsicle or whatever it is this cold creature would do. She just prays it doesnt hurt.

Hermiones eyes stung, her head hurt, and she felt a sticky wetness drip down the back of her neck and soak into her collar.  _ Dying sucks.  _ The beast howls again and reers back, and she closes her eyes, letting herself disappear into the darkness to wait for this cruel fate to come to her.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM”

  
  


\+ + + + +

“What were they called again?”

“Dementors, dear. But they should not have been here, this was more of a freak incident”

Hermione sits up in her cot in the Hospital Ward of Hogwarts, a cup of hot herbal tea, apparently a diluted and more  _ muggle safe _ potion that tasted like earwax and chamomile, nested in her hands while the Headmistress paces and frets. Finnie had gotten to her in time, but hardly by a hair, McGonagall reached the storage room just as the black creature burst through the glass and lunged for the immobilized woman on the floor, passed out from a head injury.

“They are currently being purged from Azkaban but are fickle things, some of them have been found loose and wandering” The elder woman turns on her foot and begins back on her set path from one side of the bed to the other again “You would think the Ministry would already have sound control of them by now, this is far from acceptable” 

McGonagall was clearly upset. Apparently these creatures, these  _ Dementors, _ shouldn't be straying so far away, and they carry a cold death with them wherever they go.    
  
“Will the students be at risk?” Hermione puzzles, turning her gross cooling concoction in her hands. There's a low throb in the base of her skull but the main damage had been taken care of, the wonders of wizarding medicine having dealt with the bleeding and the truma, but she must rest for another few hours in case she's been concussed.

She thinks for a moment, what wonderful things could be done if wizards were not in hiding and in refusal of helping their magicless brethren, the AIDS crisis, cancer, any wild new virus that may come to be, if they just put their differences and  _ pride _ aside and just worked together...

“No, they will not be, or so help me I’ll storm up to whoever's in charge of those beasts and-”

“Now now Minerva, no need to get too wound up, Miss Granger is in good health, it was just a bit of a scare”

The nurse, Madam Poppy Pomfrey, a stout woman with a surprisingly quick wit and near infinite knowledge of medicine, waddles her way into the room with a cart in tow, stacked with bottles and cups and potions and something that smells absolutely delicious.

“It was no mere scare, Poppy, we could have lost her”

“She was fine, this girls practically made of iron”

Hermione huffs a laugh while McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey discuss the situation together. The room was empty save for the three of them. The other teachers sent out to find any lingering Dementors to purge, Finnie having returned to her work though reluctant, worrying for her newfound friend.

“Here girlie, Dragons Breath stew, It’ll put some vitality back in you”

Shes never heard of this before but it smells delectable with a hint of spices, a lap table is wheeled over her and shes given a bowl of a bright red steaming broth, she could almost trick herself into thinking it was tomato soup if it weren't for the garish little toes of what she  _ hopes _ is a chicken's foot sticks out from the liquid. 

Hermione accepts it, concealing her slight disgust, but happy to have something else on her pallet that wasn't  _ earwax tea _ . It tasted almost like some kind of thick chicken soup with generous chunks of meat in it, and a strong tongue tingling burn that followed behind. She wasn't used to spicy foods, mother and father were never adventurous cooks and takeout was always some kind of variation of roasted meat and veg. But it wasn't unpleasant, if she had the nerve she’d even ask for a second bowl sans the might-be-chicken foot.

And as if by magic, because of course it was by magic, she felt as if her heart beats stronger somehow, like she could happily go for a ten kilometer run, or hell she could punch god in the face she feels so good. 

“I think I might already be better” she says almost too fast for herself to hear, pushing her cart back and ready to peel the sheets off herself to run to freedom. Pomfrey cant resist but to hoot a laugh and gently nudge her back into place. “No you surely are  _ not _ young miss, You're staying here till tomorrow morning at least”   
  
Hermione pouts, but doesn't move save for the bouncing of a leg beneath her sheets just to shake off some of this burning energy within her. “Besides, Headmistress McGonagall needs to have a word”. There's a telling look in her eyes as she looks over to her old friend, they nod to each other, and Madam Pomfrey takes her leave. But not before refilling the damn teacup and insisting it be finished soon.

McGonagall takes a slow seat at the foot of Hermione's bed, sliding her glasses off her face and hooking them between a button slot in her high necked blouse. She takes a slow breath, and rubs her tired face.

“Is everything alright, Headmistress?” she asks.

“Yes, I am simply a bit tired” McGonagall begins, she takes another breath before turning to her. “I don't expect you to understand, you are far too young, but I have grown weary of worrying of the deaths of those within these castle walls” 

She can understand, just a bit, the worry she had constantly nagging in the back of her mind as she wandered the cold streets of London without a home. Was Harry alive? Was Ron, and his lovely family? She’d never seen the massacre that was the battle for Hogwarts, but she had seen the toll, over one hundred bodies recovered, some students, some teachers. McGonagall must have felt every one of them weigh on her already weathered shoulders.

“Im sorry” is all Hermione can think to say. She wishes she had the words for comfort for the woman, but it was something she just couldn't wrap her head around.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, dear. It's simply the cost of war”

She waits for a beat, picking at the frayed hem of her long draping sleeves. “I want you to begin employing the services of Lucius Malfoy, for both our sakes. I am not as fast as I once was, this was too close a call Hermione”

A rock of guilt settles itself in her stomach. She  _ had _ been avoiding the man, choosing instead the company of the little magical elf who was much more pleasant to be around, a lot less  _ racist. _ She solemnly nods, her regret evident on her face.

“I know he is difficult, he always has been, but he can do more with a wand than any house elf can with their snaps, he could very well be the one person able to save your life one day” 

The older woman has a light sheen to her eyes, the weary bags now evident beneath them, heavier now with age. She clasps a cool comforting hand on Hermione’s ankle, smoothing the fabric between them with light passes of her fingers, her gaze almost distant while she ponders.

“I told myself.. This year would be a year no one died. I refuse to lose one more student, or one more teacher. So please, if not for my sake, then for Harry and Ron. And if that damned Malfoy needs to be put in place I won't deny you help”

Hermione nods to her, yes, she can do it. Maybe Malfoy wasnt so bad, after all its evident most of his cold attitude has come from a place of trauma, it might just take some time and patience for him to become  _ tolerable _ . 

“You have my word, Headmistress”

“Thank you, now please, Rest, so that I may get some sleep as well you silly thing”

She gives a comforting short squeeze to Hermione's ankle and raises, shes smiling again, and Hermione feels her heart ache at the motherly aura the woman seems to exude.  _ I wonder where my mother is right now… father too. Are they safe, are they happy? Do they have any idea where their babies are right now? _

McGonagall turns to take her leave, a slight sway to her tired steps, and as she nears the door with her hand braced she bids her good night.

“Don't forget to finish your tea” 

_ Uugh.  _

* * *

  
  


Working with Lucius Malfoy in tow is a task within itself, Hermione finds.

The man was stiff, hardly responsive, and when he  _ did  _ speak it was with such venom she's left feeling pissed off just from the interaction, but she’ll be damned if she gets hurt again and disappoints the Headmistress.  _ Before I get the chance to prove myself here. _

So she simply endures it, pushing down every little bit of irritance she can, never before had she had the overwhelming urge to beat a man with his own walking cane till now, and damn was she close. 

It's late August and the last of the preparation work needs to be done. Last on her long list is finishing reorganising the classroom and investigating the muggle tech that was left for her to educate with, she’d caught a glimpse of them every now and then when she drops in to leave behind supplies and is honestly at a loss of what to do with them,  _ especially _ with her new companion.

  
Her hands were full, stacked high with books and maps and graphs, odds and ends she would need for when her classes began, ahead of her hobbles the old man, hands free, refusing a single ounce of help that wasn't directly protecting her from certain death. It's like he couldn't think for anyone but himself. There wasn't a moment over the past two weeks where he had shown an inkling of kindness or generosity, not a single held open door or picked up item, no offers of assistance whatsoever, hell not even a bloody good morning. 

He was an all round miserable prick.

If she did not pity him so much she’d have sent him back by now. 

They reach the large double doors to the Muggle Studies classroom, and for a strange change of pace, its as if Malfoy  _ waits  _ for her, his eyes casting a short sideways glance at her that she manages to catch though he does not turn his head. Every movement of his slow and robotic as if to draw the least amount of attention.

He shoulders a single door open and lets himself inside, Hermione having to hurry after him as the heavy wood soon swings back to close itself, shes knocked, and the tower of things topple onto the floor at her feet.

“Oh for  _ fucks sake _ would it kill you to hold a door just once?” she barks at him, glaring daggers at him that he sends right back with the same amount of loathing.

“Am I a butler?” he asks snidely.

Hermione grits her teeth, a bad habit shes picked up over the span of fourteen shitty days, her neck muscles always feeling tense, damn her shoulders hurt too. Everything sucked and it was all  _ his  _ fault.

She gets to her knees to pick everything up while the  _ terrible man _ wanders further into the classroom and takes a resting seat against the window frame, hands clasped over his walking cane, staring off into the nothingness somewhere between the 110th and 115th chunk of cobblestone tile at his feet. 

_ Fucking asshole. I hate him, Hate him! I'll show you a butler you son of a- _

Hermione seethes to herself, in her head she conjures the image of Ron and Harry coming back to Hogwarts and the three of them decking him square in his stupid pretty face where he  _ deserves  _ it. Her junk is left in a box by the door, its not like it was breakable, just papers and assorted tools, her main focus today was figuring out the damn ancient tech that the school still held onto.

How was she going to teach her students about modern muggle wonders if they expect her to show them with a radio transmitter from the 80s, she cant remember a thing about the 80s. She thinks back to her mp3 player that bit the dust when she first arrived, now  _ that  _ would excite the kids, bet they've never heard of Britney Spears.

The cupboards are filled with many things from household supplies to some old medical tech, even a few pieces of war memorabilia which was super unexpected, almost as unexpected as the whole intact musket and bayonet. That would sell pretty well at a pawn shop. She pulls things out one by one and lay them out on the ground, the student desks having been pushed to the far walls over the past months being unused. There was more space this way anyways.

Within her new work desk is a checklist of maintenance and checks, the last name signed off with a flourish,  _ Charity Burbage _ . First thing to check up on is… a power generator. In the back left corner of the room sat an obnoxiously painted orange generator, it looked almost sparkling new, a few generations old but practically unused.

The fuel tank reads as full, but it's been sitting for god knows how long, she has no idea how to clean a fuel tank, but it smells strongly of petroleum and makes her gag when the cap is wrenched open. At least it's full. 

Lucius remains immobile while she flings open a window, ventilation is needed when burning petrol, else she’ll gas them both. There's a pump and pulley, similar to something she's seen on dad's lawnmower,  _ dad…. _ The thought is shaken from her head in a split second.  _ Not now, there's work to do.  _ She follows the little guide on the side of the machine, presses the red button ten times, then pulls the crank till the machine starts up. Simple stuff. 

It sputters to life somehow, the heavy machine rumbling on the stone and out the corner of her eye she watches as the loud sounds startle the man as if he’d just heard a gunshot. Like a cat, he bends into a defensive posture and casts a sharp glare in her direction, and childishly, Hermione sticks her tongue out at him. 

“Haven't you seen a power generator, old man?”

His lip curls into a snarl but he says nothing.  _ Yeah that's right, stay quiet. _ She's got tools to test anyway. Each item is plugged into the provided sockets on the generator and slowly she runs down the list ticking off every item that still handles the electrical current without dying or exploding. 

_ Why is explosions a tick box option? _

Surprisingly there's a television, but it's an older model with a curved glass screen and large body, sitting atop a rolling cart rigged up to a VCR player, two horizontal stacks of cartridges on a lower shelf that are coated by a generous layer of dust. Each cassette had been labeled with indecipherable cursive and she agonizingly has to clean them internally, as well as the VCR player, just to  _ watch  _ them so she can relabel them.

Luckily, most of them were movies, and not official ones. Recorded versions that cut out slightly as add breaks are skipped and are covered by a grainy film, occasionally obscured by a flickering bar of static. She had a treasure trove honestly, Beauty and the beast from Disney, and Fantasia as well, Pinocchio, a couple direct to TV ones she cant name, and even some national geographic recordings.

_ Movie night? _ She squirrels the thought away as she ejects a cassette tape, now finished rewinding in the large device, and replaces it with another to check this one's contents. A straight rip of Thomas the tank engine. How does she explain  _ that one _ . It takes over an hour to go through all the tapes before they are neatly organized, and she can finally move onto the pile of odd appliances.

Most things work, save for a tired toaster, power drill, and washer-dryer from the 70s, but these were replaceable. It was starting to get late, having been here for almost five hours without pause, at least things were  _ tolerable _ due to the fact that somehow the FM radio she found not only works but picks up muggle stations from so far away. Be it pure luck or magical enhancement, she doesn't care because familiar music is playing from the 2000’s best hits. It was easy to forget the shitty wizard in the window when the black eyed peas were playing. 

Besides, she's sure Lucius is  _ hating _ it.

She spares a quick glance at him to see if he's moved from his spot of unresponsively staring into nowhere, for once, he's actually actively looking at his surroundings, aware. Its a step up. When he notices her looking his way he shoots her a venomous glare, and she turns away from him with a huff. It's going to take a while to get used to a spiteful unhelpful shadow.

There's a significant technology gap Hermione needs to fill, it was as if the wizarding world had ignored most technological advancements made in the late 20th century, caring more for their old practices. When the perfect answer to major problems is so easily attained there's no need to progress, no? Sure they have potions to un-break your bones, but have they seen a flat screen tv? Have they been to the moon? Have they cracked the genetic code? no. 

And their assbackwards way of handling things means Hermione's going to have to spend quite a bit of money and time just so these students don't go out into London thinking a rotary phone is commonplace. Hell, some new junk might even gauge students enough to be  _ interested _ in muggle studies. 

She writes up a list of things to buy, and notes to expand the known curriculum just a bit further to include understanding more modern advancements. She’ll just have to find places to slip it in she guesses. Including another note to stock up on AA batteries for the radio, she's not going to miss a single hit while working in this place.

Dusting off her knees Hermione rises from her place on the floor and tosses her marked clipboard onto the desk, and after her hours of being hunched over cleaning and scribbling and reading she finally reaches her arms above her head and  _ stretches _ . Her arms, shoulders, and spine all setting off an applause of cracks and pops, settling an immediate satisfaction into her relaxing muscles. 

“I'm about ready to head back, just let me put this away”

Her grumpy guardian nods his head, not wasting an ounce of energy to verbally respond to her, but honestly she's grateful, taking away his chance to call her  _ girl _ or  _ muggle _ again, every time he utters it she can feel his resentment.  _ I'll just let him steep in his bitterness _ . 

All things are easily returned to their homes, save for the now dead electronics that are left in a small pile in the corner of the room where she's sure a house elf will take care of it later. Her notes all fastened to her clipboard for review with McGonagall tomorrow, and now that she considers the time dinner should be ready by the time she has a shower.

It's good to feel like you've accomplished something for the day. It's been a good while since she's had a job, let alone done a  _ good job _ . The satisfaction feels warm and pleasant in her chest and she's reminded of the advice from her shelter-group therapist, that being proud of yourself is healthy. Yeah. feels good. Endorphins are great. 

Lucius begrudgingly gets up from his seat and follows her out, she even  _ holds the door _ for him because thats  _ what a nice person does.  _ She's sure the message will hammer home for him one day. Either way, she's got a lovely date with the hot water system and then the pumpkin scones that she more than had her fill of the night before.

“Keep up, old man” Hermione chirps as she quickens her pace, distancing herself more from him, by the time she reaches the door of their shared chambers she can't see him at all, left abandoned a few corridors back. Its not like he’d make her night any better, she gathers her toiletries and absconds before he even comes back.

* * *

  
  


Never had Hermione been in such a decorative looking place.

It was the first of September, finally. The Welcome feast for all students coming to Hogwarts, both new and old, an odd skew of an age gap as the year post-war had no new students, the entire schooling year put on hold while home-lead schooling was encouraged save for the tight-knit pod of ‘saved students’ who essentially lived at the school, The ones whose families were no longer safe to live with. 

They all gathered in boisterous crowds, childhood friends having been separated by the last year, finally together again. Off in the corner a cluster of tabloids chatter amongst themselves, and vibrant Rita Skeeter easy to single out amongst them, of course they were here to document this, Hogwarts Finally beginning its first year after the war, the PR is going to be amazing. 

And somewhere, a glum figure is surely slumped against the cobblestone wall. Silent, watching, his bitter heart probably spitefully cussing out the joyous children or something, or so Hermione assumes. Lucius had seemed reluctant to be seen, refusing the seat provided for him before stalking off somewhere, not before muttering “I’ll be nearby”. Without his bitter company the night has gone quite well.

All the older students separated by their house, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor, while the new students gathered in a giggling excited crowd sitting cross legged on the open floor space of the great hall.

McGonagall stands at the podium, a beautiful eagle with spread wings on which a platform and piece of parchment rest. The Headmistress looked as aged and regal as ever, head held high and proud as she looked over all her new pupils. 

_ This year would be a year no one died _

“All these students I see here today are the bright future of the wizarding world” she begins, that matronly aura seemingly covering her “In the stead of what has happened we now see opportunity to grow, to become greater, and show what good honest people make of the world of magic”

“Today I introduce to you those who will be guiding you through this year and onto the next” McGonagall begins to list off her colleagues, some she hadn't seen till here tonight, Professor Flitwick with charms, Trelawney with divination, the bashful but charming Longbottom working alongside the herbology and D.A.D.A professors, and his odd girlfriend who now assists Hagrid with Care of Magical creatures. Apparently two students who fought alongside Harry in the war.

Her stomach is a knot of nerves and excitement as she knows her own title grows near. She thinks her childhood self would be proud to see this.

“-and our reprised Muggle studies class, generously led by our own Hermione Granger. She is the trusted family of Harry Potter and is to be respected for her devotion to your learning”

Hermione stands briefly just as her colleagues had, offering a curt wave and bow, she feels her cheeks warm as she sees the little sparks or reverence and wonder in the young ones eyes, glinting in the light of the hundreds of floating candles. But then -

- _ Flash-  _ a blinding light blinks in and out with a pop, jolting the students and drawing some of their attention. A photographer, paired beside the peacock of a woman, sheepishly waves an apology for his disruption while Skeeter smiles on, her floating quill and parchment not missing a detail, completely ok with being a distraction.

Of course, there's gonna be a gossip piece as well, she bets. She can see the titles now, _muggle teacher? What could this spell for the future of the students._ _Haha. spell_. Hermione sits herself down fast, no longer wanting to draw attention, she had her moment, and the next teacher is announced.

Beside her, the new Potions teacher. He isn't too old, perhaps 30, with short curled hair that just covers the tips of his ears, his eyes perpetually heavy lidded but with an expression she can only consider as ‘chilled out’, and his skin had a lovely dark tan to it. He sports a beard, but not much, sporting a goatee instead of a grand old wizard beard with bells in it.

“Your Potions Teacher, Dolion Lykaios-” a name to the face. He smiles at the students but doesn't rise from his seat, choosing instead to raise both hands and wave them enthusiastically.  _ He might be fun to get to know _ she thinks as he shakes his shaggy curls from his eyes, turning and meeting her gaze, and holding it for many heartbeats too long while the students applaud in the background. Ok damn. Hes kinda pretty.

“I look forward to working with you” he says, carrying an accented lit to his words. Perhaps hes a transfer from overseas? She’ll have to ask later tonight. Because everyone's attention is drawn back to McGonagall who announces finally, the main event, As the Sorting Hat is carried out and placed on a low stool.

The Headmistress bows, and steps back, taking her place at the center of the dining table and the podium eagle flies away with its parchment.

“Let the sorting ceremony begin!”

\+ + + + +

  
  


Lucius was never one to dwell on nostalgia. So many of his memories of childhood long lost with his years of Dark Magic use, and despite his pride, his age is beginning to ware the fringe of his mind, he can feel it even now. So long he had lived as a slave to the dark lord, a stupidly willing pup who took the brunt of each hit for the rare reward of a pet, it had drained his years twofold, his prime long gone and lived regrettably.

But even now, there's something akin to warmth that he feels as he watches through the small light window in an adjoining corridor. The children excitedly grab for each other, new friends and old, and the first name is called. A young girl, Quinn Aarmity, a shock of wild black hair and toothy grin, not an ounce of worry in her little self as she hops up the stairs and takes her seat on the stool.

Upon her head the Sorting hat is placed and begins its duty, rooting around in the little girls aura till it decides her destiny. Lucius wonders if his son got to experience this, the same excitement, if he reveled in the attention or shrank away. What little he can recall is simply the anticipation of disappointing his father if he were sorted anywhere but Slytherin.

“Ah, the perfect house for such a bright young witch” a voice pulls Lucius from his reverie, he often finds himself disappearing into a place of self reflection that leaves him feeling… pathetic.  _ You let your guard down so often its embarrassing, its like you  _ want _ this _ . A vile slithering voice hisses in his ears. 

His attention snaps to Rita Skeeter herself, she stands alone in the shadows beside him, hands clasped behind her back in some feigned innocent stance as if she weren't secretly jotting down every moment he so much as blinked incorrectly. 

“I beg your pardon, Rita?” Throat parched, He hadn't thought to drink for two days, had hardly even spoken, and his vocal cords stuck unpleasantly, making him sound, again,  _ pathetic _ . 

Skeeter just harps her lyrebird laugh, so tailored and artificial it was an insult she’d use it here with him. “Aarmity, Her mother was a Ravenclaw too if I remember. Oh! Did I perhaps catch you at a bad time? Brooding as usual?” 

He feels a flicker of rage spark in him that it quelled instantly, were he not under this stupid Ministry contract he’d have happily engaged her with a back-and-forth of sharp tongued quips, but he no longer had that fire. Her tongue was still quick, and she was equally as annoying as before the war, and its obvious she has no empathy to share for him let alone other ex-Death eaters, even ones who have done her many favors over the past years.  _ Figures, the hypocritical bitch. _

“My time is no longer valuable” Lucius tells her simply. It is a truth. He is owned, despite the legal documents he knows in his heart the Ministry will just work him to death after this little  _ bodyguard _ PR stunt of theirs, he knows how they work all too well, and once the Malfoy name is finally at the bottom of the societal ladder, only then will they let him die.

“Oh c’mon” Skeeter gives him a concerningly gentle nudge with her hip. She looks behind her, then ahead of them, surveying for others to be listening.  _ Cant net anyone else get her scoop _ . “Seriously Lucius, You look like shit. Get talking” she insists.

“Is this how you interrogate now?” 

“I'm tossing you a bone here. And you're practically a bewitched skeleton at this point who could do with one. What are they doing to you here?”

Lucius shakes his head. “No, it is not Hogwarts. If anything they are hospitable despite my shortcomings”

“Then what is  _ wrong _ with you”

He doesn't know. It could be anything. The Torture, the Dementors, the years of servitude, the looming threat of the Ministry, the ever growing desire to die. Existing in a perpetual state of lethargy losing hours, even days, of memory in the blink of an eye. He never truly falls asleep or wakes up, he just passes between the state of “aware” and nothing sporadically.

How does he address this to such a treasonous woman when he can hardly reflect on it himself without risking losing himself again.

“Im… unwell” He tries. It's close enough to the truth. 

“you've been ‘unwell’ for the last month, I saw you at the platform and you look  _ worse now _ ”

_ Who cares how I am? _

Lucius feels his lip pull back like muscle memory, the flicker of irritance quickly smothered by his blanket of ‘nothingness’ before he can think of something else witty to say.  _ He’d always been so quick to surrender _ , hands raised slightly in defeat and a shrug in one. What was there to say but his honest penance.

“This is all of my own making, Rita.” he tells her, and watches her brow furrow behind her designer cats eye glasses. “I bought myself into this mess, I chose to be a Death Eater and this is my punishment. I assumed you’d be happy we were suffering”. Because so many were, he wasn't an idiot, people had rejoiced when all those affiliated with the Dark Lord were locked away, even those who damn his name specifically, who were eager for him to receive the Dementors kiss.

_ I deserve this _ .

Even now, the company he keeps at this castle resents him.

Rita inhales deeply. She's pensive, trying to figure words out, his confession stopping her in her tracks for once in her life. It's as if she's  _ trying  _ to be sincere, trying being the key word, but he couldn't trust her as far as he could throw her, which at this stage in time is hardly a centimeter. 

“You know you can... “ The bright journalist tries before flattering, a sentence left dead, followed by another “There's places that you can go…” “Maybe  _ someone _ can talk to the ministry…” “don't you have a son?” each one ending with a more forlorn look on the woman's face. What does she  _ care _ for. Why would it matter. He just shrugs back at her. 

“Even him…?”  _ yes, even Draco.  _

“My time is no longer valuable,  _ I _ am no longer valued, Rita. It's best you just let this be, and one day perhaps you’ll remember me, I will have been long gone by then”

“You say it as if you know you're going to die”

He lets her statement hang, and she doesn't fill in the space. Maybe he will. Anything is better than perpetual nothingness. But perhaps he won't, after all, he doubts the Ministry will let him go so easily. If he's lucky He’ll grow old mining rare minerals with other convicts somewhere in a deep dark hole where no one asks him pressing questions about his life and wellbeing. 

“Lucius” 

He faded off for a moment, blinking back into himself for a moment to see her shining eyes staring him down. Her hands on her hips, chest seemingly puffed for such a small woman, the cravat she chose does add to her plumage. “At least just… talk to someone. Some people think there's still a person in you. Seeing you like this is depressing”

_ Oh, my apologies, ill try to suffer a little less loud next time.  _ He just wants this over with. What little emotional output he was capable of feeling had left him feeling a bit more tired and irate, knowing too well he will probably snap at Miss Granger later tonight from being pent up, the muggle always being in the wrong spot at the wrong time and being the only target for him to spit venom at. 

“You have my word. If it becomes a real problem I’ll have something done”

“Thank you.” He doesn't like this Rita, he wants the old one back who would yo-yo wordplay with him, who did not have an ounce of empathy in her, dealing low blows and effective pride wounds. This concerned creature had no place living in her skin, the feeling of being pitied leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Now if you're done prying into my personal life, I'm sure there's some twelve year old's to photograph” 

_ Let that one slip _

She rolls her eyes dramatically, but takes the hint that he wants to be alone again, besides, there was a lot happening tonight, and Hermione cleaned up well, she kind of  _ should _ be photographed so the Ministry and tabloids at least have a presentable picture of the Muggle to slap on their articles. 

“Just think about it you dick” 

And with that the iridescent woman leaves.

On the other side of the wall, the once uproarious cadence of students hush and a forced, awkward applause is given to the student who hops off the stool with tears in her eyes, she was assigned to Slytherin. 

  
  
  


_ That's where it started, wasn't it?  _ He thinks.  _ My pride, living in the shadow of that snake. _

Perhaps he could turn in early tonight, Hermione was safe amongst these powerful wizards, so he wasn't needed. He can hobble his way up to his chambers and disappear for the night and no one will notice,  _ because nobody cares. I deserve this.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :y wow bro.
> 
> cOMMENTS APPRECIATED AGAIN SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy!  
> Comments, kudos and bookmarks are all really appreciated!   
> <3


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